

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


Shelf 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 


























4 



863. SirVOLiE JiriJJWBER. 


UGLY BARRINGTON 

By “THE DUCHESS.” 


BETTY’S VISIONS 


By RHODA BROUGHTON. 

880 


17 TO 27 VaNdeWater 3 t 
EWT0F\1^' 




SeasiSeUErary, Po^lc^E^r^nT^sued^rT-weekly. 


iTie Seasiae library, Pocket Edition, Issued Tri-weekly. By subscription $50 per aunuin. 
^Pyrighted i8H6byGeorgeMunro— Entered at the Post Office at New York at second class rates— Sept. 30. 188 




THE KING OF STORY PAPERS. 


THE 

NEW YORK FIRESIDE COMPANION. 

A PAPER FOB THE HOHE CIRCLE. 

PURE, BRIGHT AND INTERESTING. 


THE FIRESIDE COMPANION numbers among its contributors the 
best of living fiction writers. Its Detective Stories are the most absorbing 
ever published, and its specialties are features peculiar to this journal. 

A Fresh Sermon by Rev. T. De Witt Talmage is 
Published in Every Number. 


THE FIRESIDE COMPANION is the most interesting weekly paper 
published in the United States, embracing in its contents the best Stories, 
the best Sketches, the best Humorous Matter, Random Talks, Fashion 
Articles, and Answers to Correspondents, etc. No expense is spared to 
get the best matter. 

Among the contributors to The Fireside Companion are Mary E. 
Bryan, Lucy Randall Comfort, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, Laura Jean 
Libbey, “Old Sleuth,” Charlotte M. Braeme, author of “Dora Thorne,” 
Mary C. Freston, Annabel Dwight, Clyde Raymond, Kate A. Jordan, 
Louise J. Brooks, Charlotte M. Stanley, etc. 


TERMS:— The New York Fireside Companion will be sent for one 
year, on receipt of $3: two copies for $5. Getters-up of clubs can after- 
ward add single copies at $2.50 each. We will be responsible for remit- 
tances sent in Registered Letters or by Post-office Money Orders. Postage 
free. Specimen copies sent free. 

Address GEORGE MUNRO, 

P. O. Box 3751. MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

17 to 27 Vandewater St., and 45 to 63 Rose St., New York. 



■ r 



If you appreciate a Corset that will neither break down nor roll up in tMor^ 

TRY BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you value health and comfort, 

WEAR BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you desire a Corset that fits the first day you wear it, and needs no 
^breaking in,” 

BUY BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you desire a Corset that yields with every motion of the body, 
EXAMINE BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you want a perfect fit and support without compression, 

USE BALL’S CORSETS. 

Owing to their peculiar construction it is impossible to break steels in 
Ball’s Corsets. 

The Elastic Sections in Ball’s Corsets contain no rubber, and are warranted 
to out-wear the Corset. 

Every pair sold with the following guarantee: 

“ If not perfectly satisfactory in every respect after three weeks' 
trial, the money paid for them will be refunded (by the dealer). 
Soiled or Unsoiled.” 


The wonderful popularity of Ball’s Corsets has induced rival manu- 
facturers to imitate them. If you want a Corset that will give perfect satis- 
faction, insist on purchasing one marked. 

Patented Feb. 22 , 1881 . 

And see that the name BALL is on the box; also Guarantee of the 

Chicago Corset Co. 

AWARDED HIGHEST PRIZES WHEREVER EXHIBITED. 

Sale l>y all l^eading’ l^ry Ooods 1>ealei-$i» ia tli© 
United States, Canada and Ungland. 




MUKEO^S PUBLICATIONS. 


The Heiress of Hilldrop; 

OE, 

THE ROMANCE OF A YOUNG GIRL. 

By OHABLOTTE M. BBAEME, 

Author of “ Dora Thome 

Ceiup^lete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. 741. 
PRINTED IN LAROE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE. 

PItICJE 30 CENTS. 


For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage pre^ 
paid, on receipt of the price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro's Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandew-ater Street, New York. 


SEASIDE LIBRIEI (POCKET EDITIOH), SO. 711. 

A CARDINAL SIN. 

A NOVEL 

BY HUGH CONWAY, 

Author op “Called Back.” 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE. 


PRICE 30 CENTS. 


For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage 
prepaid, on ree^pt of the price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE MXJNRO, Motro's Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vaadewater Street New York 


UGLY BARRINGTON 


By “ THE DUCHESS.” ^ 

r V 

V 

BETTY’S VISIONS. 

By EHODA BEOUGHTOK 



NEW YORK : 

GEOEGE MUISTRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 Vandewater Street. 

■o-O 


WORKS BY ^^THE DUCHESS 

CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 





NO. PRICE. 

T' 2 Molly Bawn 20 

/ 6 Portia 20 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian 10 

' 16 Phyllis 20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

29 Beauty’s Daughters 10 

^30 Faith and Uufaith 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and Eric Dering * . . 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill ’d 10 

123 Sweet is True Love 10 

129 Rossmoyne 10 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other Stories ... 10 

136 “ That Last Rehearsal,” and Other Stories * . .10 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

171 Fortune’s Wheel 10 

284 Doris 10 

— 312 A Week in Killarney 10 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s Eve ... 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion • 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other Stories . . . .10 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart; or, “ O Tender Dolores!” . . 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Barbara ... 10 

517 A Passive Crime, and Other Stories . . . .10 

541 “ As it Fell Upon a Day ” 10 

733 Lady Branksmere 20 

771 A Mental Struggle 20 

785 The Haunted Chamber 10 

862 Ugly Barrington 10 


RHODA BROUGHTON^ S WORKS 

CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 


Na. PRICE. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains , . . . . .10 

758 “Good-bye, Sweetheart!” 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well 20 

767 Joan . . 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She . . . . . . .20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower 20 

862 Betty’s Visions 10 


UGLY BARRINGTON. 


By “THE DUCHESS.” 


CHAPTER L 

Straining harsh discords and 
Unpleasing sharps.” 

There are limits to one^s patience says Sir Wild- 
ing, frowning heavily. He is standing on the hearth-rug, 
with his back to the fire, and has taken up a distinctly 
menacing position. 

To yours, certainly,'’^ replies his daughter, with a faint 
sneer. 

She is a slight girl, with a strangely beautiful face, large 
dark expressive eyes, and a mutinous mouth. She is hold- 
ing her head very haughtily just now, and has defiance 
written in every curve of her lissom figure, in every feat- 
ure of her perfect face. 

Let us talk sense, says Sir Wilding, either too accus- 
tomed to her irreverence — which is not altogether unde- 
served — or too prudent to notice it. You must accept 
Barrington. 

Why?^^ 

Why? Why should you not?^^ 

Why should I? You have not answered that.^^ 


6 


UGLY LAIlEIKGTOi^. 


‘‘For many reasons. We are miserably poor^ and he is 
the richest man we know, for one.'’^ 

“And the ugliest, for two! That balances your one, 
and leaves the scales as they were before. ^ ^ 

“ He is a thoroughly good fellow, for another, says Sir 
Wilding, who detests George Barrington with all his soul. 

“A late discovery. 

“ Never mind how late. He is at least worth a dozen 
such fellows as Mervyn.^^ 

“A still later discovery, says Miss Brand, with a sec- 
ond sneer. “ Why, it was only last night you were sing- 
ing Mr. Mervyn^s praises 

“Be it so. Yet I desire that for the future your ac- 
quaintance with him shall cease. 

“As we are on the subject of reasons, you will perhaps 
give me one for this sudden command,^ ^ says the girl, who 
has grown rather white; but whether from anger or some 
deeper emotion it would be difficult to decide. 

“ Certainly not. Why should I? But I shall see that I 
am obeyed. 

“ Take care! I am not your slave, sa3^s she, with hash- 
ing eyes and colorless lips. She goes a step nearer to him. 
“ Why am I to regard Mr. Mervyn as a stranger?^ ^ 

“ He is an idle unprincipled fellow, thoroughly worth- 
less—^^ 

“ And interrupts she, in an inexphcable tone. 

“ That has nothing to do with it. Worthlessness is one 
thing, poverty another; one is disreputable, the other — a — a 
misfortune, /am poor,^^ says Sir Wilding, drawing himself 
up with a gesture that would be noble but for something in 


UGLY BAERIJ^^GTOJq-. 


7 


the whole air of the man that renders it ludicrous, if not 
contemptible. 

His daughter, failing, apparently, to see the ludicrous 
side of it, lowers her head. 

I have learned many things of late of this Merv3m, ^^ 
goes on Sir Wilding pompously. ‘"He is a mere advent- 
urer, living from hand to mouth. The little property he 
has here is mortgaged, I understand, up to the hilt. He is 
no fit associate for us.'’^ 

A very fit associate, if he be, as you say, an advent- 
urer. What better are we?^^ asks she, throwing out her 
hand, and turning upon him with a gesture of superb dis- 
dain. In this disdain it is impossible to misunderstand 
that she includes herself. 

You forget yourself,"" says her father coldly. 

She lets her hand fall to her side, and a bitter smile 
creeps over her face, 

‘‘ Since when have we become too respectable for Mr. 
Mervyn?’" she asks. “Is he altogether ruined, then? Is 
he no longer of any use to you at ecarte? Is his last shill- 
ing goner"" 

“ Do not provoke me too far,"" says Sir Wilding, hush- 
ing darkly; “ you are a woman, and your insult is beneath 
notice. Mervyn is as I found him, so far as his pocket is 
concerned. W^hat mischief he may have incurred at your 
hands is another matter, and quite 3^our own affair. I do 
not seek to look into it; but I will have the intimacy with 
him ended no%o. I will not have him coming here making 
love to you. Understand me once for all. If he darkens my 
door again I shall horsewhip him."’ 


8 


UGLY BARRIKGTOK. 


‘‘ He is the youTiger man; take care he does not 
horsewhip you!^^ says Miss Brand, in a low but furious 
tone. 

Florence! How" dare you speak to me like that?^^ 

How dare you incense me as you do? Is the child to 
concede all to the parent, and the parent nothing to the 
child: You gave me my nature, and now you taunt me 
with it. What does St. Paul say? ‘ Fathers, provoke not 
your children to wrath. ^ 

‘‘ l)on^t quote St. Paul to me,^^ says Sir Wilding. That 
he is somewhat ignorant of the New Testament may be in- 
ferred from the fact that he does not at this moment quote 
back a crushing text to her. 

Ah, you donT like home truths,^ ^ retorts she triumph- 
antly. 

I donT like ill-breeding in any shape or form. When 
you lose your temper, you lose your dignity, and you also 
lose sight of the fact that distasteful repartee always bor- 
ders on vulgarity. Let us talk sense. 

^^With all my hear t,^^ says Miss Brand. But if, by 
the sense, I am to understand you mean talking me into 
accepting Mr. Barrington, I tell you honestly it will be 
time thrown away."^^ 

What is your objection to him?^^ 

Of course, the great objection is that I really donT care 
whether he be dead or alive. One should care a little, I 
think, about the man one marries, but it would be impos- 
sible to care for him; and he is so ugly.^^ 

Pshaw! a mere girPs fad. Six months after matri- 
mony beauty and ugliness are of equal value. 


UGLY BAllRINGTOK. 


9 


I dare say. But at least for the six months, I suppose, 
the beauty counts for someth! ng.^^ 

You are thinking of Mervyn!^/ exclaims he angrily. 
One must think of something. 

‘‘ Then think of Barrington. ' 

i^’o, .thank you. He doesnT suit me in the least. 

‘‘ You are a fool!^^ sa^^s Sir Wilding savagely. 

And your daughter/^ retorts she, with an irritating 
laugh. ‘ ^ I dare say that sort of infirmity runs in the 
blood. There — donT lose your temper; remember your 
dignity and your lecture of a moment since. "" ^ 

Here it occurs to Sir Wilding that his daughter may be 
more than a match for hiiUo He refrains, therefore, from 
indignant rejoinder, and, turning, takes up the poker and 
molests the coals with a vengeance. The flames, darting 
up, illumine both faces, sc strangely like, yet so strangely 
unlike. 

There is something I must tell you, Florence, says 
her father at length huskily. 

He still holds the poker in his hand in an unconscious 
fashion, and keeps his face turned well away from her. If 
he is afraid of anything on earth it is the cold contempt- 
uous eyes of his only child. 

Well?^^ says Miss Brand indifferently. 

I donT know if what I am going to say will have the 
least weight with you. You have always been so undutiful 
in your conduct toward me,"^ says Sir Wilding fretfully, 
with all the air of a man who is about to relate a grievance 
rather than a backsliding, that I dare say you will treat 
my communication with disrespect; but as it concerns you 


10 


UGLY BARRIKGTOiq-. 


as well as me, and as George Barrington^ s proposal has 
brought matters to a climax, I feel it had better be told. 

What is it?^"" says Florence, feeling something akin to 
fear at her heart. She drops into a chair near her, and, 
resting her elbow on the table, regards her father with 
keen but troubled eyes. 

It all lies in a nutshell, says he, fidgeting nervously. 

During the past two years I have borrowed money from 
old Barrington — the father — that I never can repay. 

Beyond the fact that her eyes have grown even harder. 
Miss Brand betrays no sign of having heard him. 

There is 1 it one way of saving my honor,^^ says Sir 
Wilding, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘‘ I 
have no money to meet his demands, as you probably know. 
Even if I sacrificed the furniture, it would not bring in 
a fourth of the sum. There is really nothing to be 
sold — 

Except me,^^ says Florence Brand, in a clear metallic 
tone. 

Her father, who has not dared to look at her, lets the 
poker fall from his hand now with a noisy clatter, and 
busies himself picking it up again as a means of covering 
his confusion. 

I am the one way, I suppose,'” she says presently. 

Your marriage with George Barrington, if you could 
bring yourself to think of it,^^ says Sir Wilding, in a tone 
that is meant to be pleading, but is only servile, would 
settle everything. His father tells me George has set his 
heart on you. He came here yesterday to speak to me 
about it, and — and^ — 


UGLY BAREIKGTOK. 


11 


To Florence his words convey the idea that it was George 
Barrington, not his father, who came yesterday to arrange 
this vile barter of so much money for one fair body. 

‘‘ Don^t go on,^^ she says hastily; don^t seek to cover 
your relation with soft words. I prefer it crude and harsh 
like this: You gain, I lose; I am the victim, you the victor. 
At least, I should be grateful that you have assigned me 
the nobler part. You were sure, then, of my acquiesscence 
in this scheme 

If you refuse,^ ^ begins Sir Wilding, misled by the scorn 
of her manner into believing her bent on rebellion, lean 
only say — 

Hoio can I refuse?^^ cries she, turning upon him with 
sudden fury. You have laid a net for me — who shall 
deliver me from it? Anything before dishonor. I give 
in; do what you will with me — marry me to this man as 
soon as the barest decency will permit, and let us be done 
with it. 

There must, of course, be some usual delay,^^ says Sir 
Wilding, trying vainly to conceal the exultation her words 
have caused him. But — 

I warn you not to give me time to thinh/^ says Miss 
Brand, rising sullenly. ‘‘ I shall marry him in a fortnight, 
or I shall not marry him at all. Understand that, and 
make no mistake about it. Tell him so.^^ 

But if— 

There shall be neither ifs nor buts in this most iniqui- 
tous transaction. I am selling my soul for the flimsy thing 
you call your honor, and you shall certainly undertake all 
the minor miseries connected with the transfer. Do not 


12 


UGLY BAERIITGTON. 


mention my name^ but let him fully comprehend that the 
marriage is to be got over before Christmas/^ 

It is now close upon that holy tide; but, afraid to argue 
with her in her present mood, Sir Wilding agrees to let 
George Barrington know that the wedding must be both 
hurried and, comparatively speaking, private. 

As she rises to leave the room, he goes up to her, and 
lays his hands in a would-be fatherly fashion upon her 
shoulders. 

I have to thank you/^ he is beginning sentimentally, 
but by a sudden movement she shakes herself free of him. 

‘‘I have to thank you, too/^ she says, with passionate 
bitterness. ‘ ‘ This hateful marriage has at least one sweet 
side to it. It will separate me finally from you,’^ 

She turns, and, without another glance, sweeps imperi- 
ously from the room. 


CHAPTER n. 

Moderation is the silken string running through the pearl chain 
of all virtues.” 

It is a dull dark day, one of Mature^s most barren 
efforts. The rain is falling in sullen drops, and the wind 
is moaning heavily. Above, in the cloud-laden sky, the 
sound of distant storms, in hollow murmurs, dies away. 

A fresh and angry burst of rain is dashing itself against 
the drawing-room window-panes of Brand House as the 
servant opens the door and announces Mr. Barrington.-’^ 

It is not the old Barrington who is ushered in, but the 


UGLY BAERINGTOK. 


13 


young man, his only son. Of the old Barrington it will be 
sufficient to say that he is a man of an unbounded stom- 
ach (giving that sentence its most simple meaning) and a 
very handsome face. Indeed, the Barringtons for genera- 
tions have been so famed for their beauty that it was con- 
sidered remarkable when the young man of the present 
time grew up without even one presentable feature. It 
earned him the sobriquet of Ugly Barrington, though 
there are certainly many men more worthy of the adjective 
than he. 

Yet now, as he enters the room and one looks at him, it 
must be acknowledged he is an ugly man. But with such 
a calm earnestness of purpose in his eyes, and with a mouth 
so characterized by a certain firm sweetness, as serves, in a 
great measure, to redeem his face from actual plainness, 
and elevate it into something beyond mere beauty. To 
many this man is dear; by a few he is well beloved. He is 
about twenty-nine, and stands a shade less than six feet in 
height. 

He comes quickly up to Florence Brand as the door 
closes behind him, and says, without any preface. 

Your father tells me there is some hope for me. 

My father told you, no doubt, I was willing to marry 
you,^^ returns she slowly. Her eyes do not fall before his. 
On the contrary, they look at him steadily and half defiantly. 

Yes. I could not bring myself to believe in my good 
fortune, however; so came to hear from your own lips 
whether it be really so.-^^ 

“ My father spoke the truth — ^\for once/’ is on the 
tip of her tongue, by an effort she restrains herself; yet 


14 


UGLY BARRIJS'GTON. 


there is something more that probably he did not tell you. 
I can marry you, indeed, but I can not love you. 

Not yet,^^ says Barrington. “ But that is scarcely to 
be wondered at; you have seen me but four times alto- 
gether, I think. 

‘‘ That is just the number of times you have seen me; 
and yet — ^ ^ 

You should remember the difference between us,^^ in- 
terrupts he quietly. The manly humility of his tone would 
probably have touched any woman but one determined to 
regard him at his worst. 

And yet, she goes on haughtily, as though disdain- 
ing the interruption, you say — at least, my father says — 
that you love me. 

‘‘ Your father says less than the truth. That you should 
love me on so short an acquaintance is more than I ever 
hoped. 

Well, I have told you,^^ says Miss Brand, after a slight 
pause; I thought so much was due to you.^^ 

•‘It was. But is that allV^ asks he, regarding her 
closely. 

“ Is it not enough?^ ^ asks she in turn contemptuously. 
“ Were I you, I should hesitate. 

“You are not me; I do not hesitate. I accept the risk,^^ 
returns he slowly. 

“ You are a brave man!^^ she says, with a curl of her 
beautiful lip. 

In this spirit they get married some few weeks later. 
The ceremony is got over very creditably, not so much as a 


UGLY BAliKmGTOK. 


15 


tear falling to dim its luster. The bride, according to 
some, is too self-possessed— almost stoical in her calm; but, 
according to others, sufficiently pale to carry off any sus- 
picion of want of feeling. The bridegroom, being the in- 
ferior article on all such occasions, is little commented 
upon. 

After the wedding-breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Barrington 
start for town, on their way to the Continent. Just at the 
end every one makes way for the father to bestow a last 
embrace upon his only child; but the only child so evident- 
ly shrinks from this public demonstration that a slight awk- 
wardness is the result; and finally her husband carries her 
off hurriedly to the waiting carriage. 

But this unpleasant little episode happened quite three 
hours ago; and now Florence finds herself in a private sit- 
ting-room at the Langham. It is a very pretty room, 
wonderfully home-like and cozy for an hotel; and Florence, 
sinking languidly into a deeply cushioned chair, tells her- 
self, with a sigh of thankfulness, that at last she is alone! 

She had said some little thing to Mr. Barrington shortly 
after their arrival that had left him no alternative but to 
relieve her of his presence; and now, letting her face sink 
into her palm, she gives herself up to thought for the first 
time for many days. 

Eecent events attract first the idle workings of the brain. 
The cold dawn when she had awakened and risen, and 
gone stolidly about such preparations as must belong to a 
coming marriage, whether distasteful or otherwise; the 
drive to church; the wedding; every smallest word uttered 
by her or him (she shudders), every pulsation of her care- 


16 


UGLY BARlilNGTON. 


fully subdued hearty now returns to her clearly as when the 
actual hour was at hand. The breakfast, where he (an- 
other shudder) had spoken a few quiet words, and where 
the bishop had been more hopelessly silly than even his 
worst enemies could have anticipated — all comes to her 
now. All seems clear as a dream within a dream. Yet 
everything is reality. In that lies the sting, she tells her- 
self, with a start of anguish. A few short hours ago she 
was Florence Brand; now she can no longer lay claim to 
that title. Yet how she had despised it those few short 
hours ago! and now how willingly would she return to it! 
She must have been mad! 

She has risen to her feet with an impulsive desire to do 
something that may recall her liberty, but.sinks back again 
into her seat, overpowered by the weight that has been 
brought to bear upon her. She is irrevocably bound to the 
man she does not love. She is forever separated from the 
man she could have loved with all her soul, so she beheves. 
As this cruel certainty comes to her, she does not curse 
Fate, but she sighs; her lips pale, her eyes enlarge; evi- 
dently a struggle is going on within her. Finally, Satan 
conquers. Drawing a small morocco case from her pocket, 
she opens it, and gazes eagerly and longingly at its contents. 

She has been twenty minutes so occupied, with pauses 
between (because I contend the most love-lorn damsel could 
not gaze for so long without intruding thoughts upon the 
object of her most sacred adoration), when the door opens, 
and a waiter entering the room puts sentimental regrets to 
flight. 

He throws some coal on the Are with a considerable 


UGLY BARRIKGTOlSr. 


17 . 


amount of noise; and I don^t know whether George Bar- 
rington is suggestive of coal, but certainly the trimming of 
that fire suggests to Mrs. Barrington that she has not seen 
her newly acquired husband for a considerable time. 

‘‘ Can I do anything for you, ma^amr^"^ asks the waiter, 
when he has finished making the coals a nuisance. 

‘‘No, thank you,"” says Mrs. Barrington curtly. In re- 
ality, she is curious enough to inquire where Mr. Barring- 
ton may be, but can not bring herself to ask the question. 
Then the waiter goes away, and she falls again to contem- 
plating the portrait in the case, and finally dreams away an 
hour gazing into the glowing fire; yet the absorption that 
had been hers during that first twenty minutes does not re- 
turn to her again. Instinctively, though nervously, she 
feels that she is listening for the opening of the door behind 
her. 

About two hours later, Mr. Barrington, opening this 
door, comes leisurely into the room. There is no lover-like 
haste in his footsteps. He walks straight up to where his 
wife is sitting in her low chair before the fire. 

She does not lift her head at his approach, but still stares 
earnestly into the blazing coals. Who shall say what phan- 
toms she is conjuring up from the caverns and hollows that 
lie amongst them! 

“ Florence, says Barrington at length, as though to at- 
tract attention. 

A tide of color sweeps over her face for an instant, leav- 
ing her paler than before. 

“ Well?"^ she says, resting her eyes by an effort upon his. 


18 


UGLY BARKINGTON. 


I am afraid I have roused you from happy thoughts/^ 
he says quietly. ‘ ‘ But I find it necessary to ask you again 
where you would like to go. 

I thought Eome was our destination.”^’ 

^^It was. But it shall be home again instead^ if you 
wish it. 

^‘Why should I wish it?^^ asks she, flashing a sudden 
glance at him. There, or at Eome, it* will be all the 
same to me; I shall be as happy in one place as in the 
other. ‘ 

Or as unhappy! That is what you mean, of 
course?^^ 

Seeing she will not answer, he goes on again: 

‘‘Be candid with me, at least; I shall never forgive 
myself for having tempted you to this marriage ; therefore 
I can not expect you to forgive me. But let there be no 
polite reservations."^^ 

“You can hardly accuse me of hypocrisy so far, she 
says, rising suddenly, and going nearer to him. The cold- 
ness^ the half-suppressed aversion she had displayed dur- 
ing his courtship now comes vividly back to her. “ Why 
did you marry me?’^ she says, lifting her eyes to his. 

“ For want of a more fashionable reason, let us say I 
loved you,^^ returns he, in an unmoved tone. 

“ At least, says Florence, subdued by his earnestness, 
“ I did not deceive you. I told you openly, distinctly, that 
/ did not love you. 

“ You did, indeed. Do not imagine I have forgotten 
one look or tone of yours on that occasion. And yet I 
hoped! Some fool has said, ‘ Hope is the anchor of the 


UGLY BARKIKGTOK. 


19 


soul/ It has failed me, however. My bark has gone 
down; has foundered, with 'all hands on board. 

warned you,^^ she says, sullenly. I told you the 

worst. 

‘‘ The worst His glance is scrutinizing. 

Yes. What could there be worse than the fact that I 
bore you no affection — none ; not even the smallest friend- 
liness?^^ 

There might be far worse, says Barrington, slowly; 

there might be, for instance, the fact that you loved an- 
other. 

The blood recedes from lip and brow; but she does not 
lower her eyes before his. 

When I asked you to marry me I believed you heart- 
whole/^ says Barrington, in the same low even voice he 
has used all through; and so believing, I swore to myself 
I would make you my own, heart and soul, by right of my 
love, in less than three months. Two hours ago I lost all 
hope. ” 

You mean?"' she asks, still defiant. She is terribly 
pale; but her eyes have not fallen. Even at this supreme 
moment he pauses to cast a thought of admiration upon 
her undaunted courage. 

‘‘1 have discovered your love for — Take careP^ She 
has swayed a little, and the lace of her sleeve has caught 
the fiame of the light nearest to her. In an instant a blaze 
shoots up from her rounded arm. With a swift movement 
Barrington closes his hand upon the burning lace, and so 
extinguishes it. 

“ You are not hurt?" he asks, anxiously. 


20 


UGLY BARRINGTON. 


^^ISTo.^ 

‘‘Not even scorched?^ ^ 

He pushes up the half -burned sleeve as he speaks, and 
passes his fingers with a light touch over her arm — the soft 
pretty arm that is his by lawful right. The remembrance 
that it is his comes to him at this moment, but fails to con- 
quer him; he throws it out with a mental sneer, and lets the 
white arm fall to its owner^s side. 

“ Forget my arm,^^ she says, with determination; “ just 
now you were saying — 

“ That Fate had been kind to me.'’^ 

“ Kind.^^^" 

“ Yes. I can no longer be tricked or befooled. A 
chance moment has convinced me that though I labored 
forever to gain your heart the end would only find me a 
modern Sisyphus. 

She has seated herself again, and is now playing with her 
fan, with her eyes downcast. 

“You have gone so far,^^ she says, slowly, “ that per- 
haps you will explain. 

“ Oh, about that,^^ he says, carelessly; “ if it be neces- 
sary, yes. Some time after our arrival I was coming in 
here to ask you — I really forget what now; nothing of any 
importance, I dare say — when I saw that you were sitting 
just where you are now, and that you were crying ! Cry- 
ing bitterly, as if your heart would break, on the very day 
of your marriage 

He pauses. As though she expects his eyes to be on her, 
she holds herself erect, and flicks her fan to and fro with 
an air of insolent indifference. Yet she wrongs him. He 


UGLT BAKEIKGTOiq^. 




keeps his gaze fixed pertinaciously upon the glass door at 
the further end of the room. 

I crossed the room- silently/^ he goes on presently, to 
ask you what — whether — pshaw — if I could be of any use 
to you; and as I approached I saw — 1 really beg your par- 
don for my indiscretion, but I couldn^t help it — I saw lying 
on your lap a portrait of Mervyn. Your tears were wet- 
ting it. I hope it isn^t spoiled? It was a faultless like 
ness. 

No answer. The fan is moving with greater rapidity; 
but otherwise Mrs. Barrington might be deaf to all that is 
being said. 

It occurred to me then, though I am generally a dull 
fellow, that I might as well go back to where I came from. 
Any consolation I could offer would but add an additional 
poignancy to your grief. 

“ Your manner is an insult?^^ she says, slowly, turning 
her large eyes fully upon his. 

I assure you, you mistake me,^^ he says, shrugging his 
shoulders; ‘‘ i\iQ facts I relate may be considered an insult 
to a married woman; but I am not responsible for them. 
You were so absorbed with your portrait you did not hear 
me. I withdrew. Could I behave with more delicate 
tact? At the door, indeed, I looked back; you were kiss- 
ing the portrait then. Pah! how hot this room is!^^ 

He walks a step or two, and then returns. By this time 
she has quite recovered her self-possession. 

“ So you know Mr. Mervyn?’^ she says, coolly. 

A little. It would take a clever man to really know 
him. He — it is rather awkward, all things considered — 


22 


UGLY BARKIKGTOK. 


but he is the one enemy I have on earth. One would wish 
to be at least on good terms with one^s wife^s — friends.^' 

‘‘ Your enemy 

It occurs to her as strange, even at this moment, that 
Eandal Mervyn had not mentioned his acquaintance with 
her husband. . 

Well, that sounds rather theatrical. Let us say he 
objects to my society. Once I found him out in — But 
that canH matter now. What remains is the certainty 
that he would do me a bad turn if he could. 

And you hirnP^ 

really don^t know,^^ says George Barrington. I 
don^t care about soiling my fingers at any time; and at 
least I could hardly surpass the injury he has done me. 

At least you know all now,^^ she says. 

It is a pity, for both of us, I did not know it 
sooner. 

‘‘ If I had told you, you would not have married me? ’^ 
she says. 

At this he stares a little, and then says contemptuously: 

Your affection for him must be great, indeed, if you 
could give him up for the mere sake of filthy lucre. 

‘‘ It wasn^t that,^^ she says; and there is no good to 
be gained by an explanation now. When my declared in- 
difference to you did not induce you to forego your deter- 
mination to marry me nothing else would. ^ 

‘‘ There you wrong me,^^ he says, coldly. I am at 
least an honest man. I never hanker after my neighbor's 
goods. 

She pales a little at this insult, but says nothing. 


UGLY LAERINGTON. 


23 


May I ask/^ says Barrington, presently, ‘‘ why you did 
me the honor to marry mer"^ 

‘‘ To tell you what you already know would be waste of 
time/^ 

‘‘ I can hardly believe you sacrificed your love and your 
whole life for the sake of £5000 a year. It isnT good 
enough. 

‘^Yoii put it wrongly,^ ^ she says, with some passion, 
rising in such a violent fashion as pushes the chair on 
which she has been sitting far from her. How dare you 
think that! Were you Croesus himself I would not have 
married you but for my father^s sake.^^ 

“ I had no idea your father was so dear to you,^^ retorts 
he, with a sneer. 

He owed your father mone/; he could not repay it. 
There was only one way, and I — I was sacrificed. Now 
that you have made me say what you already know, are 
you satisfied? Is your revenge complete? It was well ar- 
ranged between you all. ^ ^ 

Then, in a second, her passion dies. 

Why discuss it?^^ she says, with the old calm listless- 
ness. 

Your father owed mine money repeats he, in a 
somewhat stunned manner, his face very pale. 

‘‘Yes. Then, with a contemptuous smile: “You 
would have me believe you knew notLing of it?^^ 

“ On my soul, I didnT,^^ says Barrington. “ All this is 
a revelation. I can now read between the lines. My poor 
father! so this is how he sought to secure my happiness. 
Alas, how difficult a thing it is to meddle with the threads 


24 


UGLY BARRIKGTO]^. 


of life! But your father/^ cries he, fLercely, what shall 
be said of him?"^ 

Anything you like/^ says Florence, coldly. The 
worst you could say would neither pain nor offend me. I 
have at least done with him forever. So much gratitude I 
owe you.^^ 

DonT overburden jourself,^^ says Barrington, dryly. 
He pauses for a moment, and considers a little; and then 
again turns his face to hers. ‘‘ May 1 ask you again, he 
says, what you now intend doing? Is it to be home, or 
Italy, or where?^^ 

Decide for yourself, returns she, curtly. 

I must consider you, too.^^ He says this very gently. 

However divided our interests may be, we are, unfortu- 
nately, bound to each other until kindly death steps in to 
do a good turn to one or other of us. In the meantime, 
the world is bent on supposing us all-sufficient for each 
other^s happinecs for some weeks to come;^^ he laughs 
rather bitterly as ho says this; therefore to precipitate 
ourselves again so soon upon the friends we have left be- 
hind will only create comment, and make matters even 
more awkward for us than they are already. Why should 
we make the world merry at our expense? You follow 
mer^^ 

She bows her head, but says nothing. She is looking 
pale and exhausted, and almost incapable of speech. 

Then let us go on to Paris, says Barrington. It 
will be dull for you, but we need stay there only a week. 
When we return to our home you can easily explain that 
you— that we; yes, we will be decidedly the best — pined 


UGLY BARKINGTOI^. 


25 


for a home Christmas, and so we came back sooner than 
we first intended. Nobody will believe you, I dare say; 
but at least nobody can prove the lie. 

Yes, it is a good plan,^^ she says heavily, conquering, 
by a supreme effort, the sense of weakness that is over- 
powering her. 

She rises as she speaks, and stands resting her hand on 
the back of her chair. 

As for this week you are to put in with me alone, 
says Barrington, hurriedly, “ donH let it distress you. 
You will dine with me, for the sake of appearances and 
the prejudices of your maid; but beyond that I promise 
you shall see me only when you desire my presence. 

I thank you for that, at least, she says, gratefully. 

There is a note of passionate relief in her tone. She 
makes a step forward, with a face the color of death. Then 
something happens to the walls of the room, she hardly 
knows what, but she flings out her arms affrightedly, as 
though to keep them away from her. 

Florence cries Barrington, hurrying toward her. 

She sways slowly forward, and, but for his arms, would 
have fallen heavily to the ground. 


CHAPTER III. 

“1 am just going to leap into the dark.’' 
take no note of time but from its loss, says 
Young. To Florence Barrington these seven daj^sin Paris 
are each one a century in itself, whose death is longed for 
even as its birth is known.^ Now, back again in her native 


26 


UGLY BARRIKGTOK. 


country, she feels the hours no whit less wearisome, and 
chafes and writhes beneath the yoke that has been laid 
upon her. 

Her husband^s coldness and evident avoidance are, of 
course, matters for which she should feel gratitude; but 
they, too, gall and harass her in many ways. 

She lets her thoughts run with willful directness upon 
the man she loves, or at least believes she could have loved 
had things gone smoothly with her, and one day is startled 
by finding herself face to face with him. 

According to some people, Mr. Mervyn is a very nice 
young man. He certainly is nice in the matter of clothes, 
and feet, and figure; and whatever liair his barber leaves 
him curls really beautifully. His eyes too are blue as those 
Italian skies travelers tell such horrid stories about; and 
altogether he is decidedly handsome. But whether his 
mind is up to his body is another thing. 

When Florence finds hijn standing in her path with his 
hat off, he is looking specially handsome, and full of mel- 
ancholy. He was not, perhaps, quite so melancholy the 
moment before, but he must love her indeed to grow so de- 
spondent the very instant he sees her — or sees that she sees 
him — it is almost the same. 

He really does feel some dejection as he gazes at her 
charming face, and notes how it pales beneath his gaze. 
She might have been his> he tells himself, had the Fates 
been propitious. By which he means, if the Fates had en- 
dowed her with a liberal income. And now it is all over, 
and the man he hates most on earth has stolen her from him. 

But is it all over: he asks himself, as he watches her 


UGLY LAKKINGTON. 


27 


changing face, and notes the deep discontent bosomed in 
her lovely eyes. To work the undoing of his enemy seems 
to Mr. Mervyn a very pleasing pastime wherewith to while 
away these dreary winter days. 

Hour by hour this thought grows with him, and strength- 
ens into a positive determination, to lower the man who had 
once lowered him in the esteem of his fellows. It is his 
sweetest dream by night and day, and after awhile he tells 
himself, with a fierce glow of delight, that he has succeeded 
even beyond his utmost expectations. Yet he is hardly 
aware how far the willful workings of a wayward heart have 
combined to help his cause. 

To Florence his love is but a secondary consideration 
when compared with her wild longing to escape from a 
thi-alldom into which she has been forced. A martyrdom 
the more terribly degrading in that she believes Barrington 
to be as indifferent to her as she to him. Mervyn’s honeyed 
words falling on her ear sound to her as so many instru- 
ments with which to work out her revenge on the father 
aiid husband who have betrayed her; perhaps, indeed, she 
feels even more strongly the desire to punish the husband 
—the man who has deliberately wedded and then neglected 
her. She grasps with a reckless haste at any means held 
out to her by which she may fly from the coldness and love- 
less formalities of the life she is now leading. 

And so the perishable days come and go, and the dreary si- 
lent Christmas creeps past them and the New-year is at hand. 

Opening the door of the library, she enters the room 
quietly, and goes up to where Barrington is sitting. It is 


28 


UGLY BARRINGTON. 


quite ten clock, j^et there is something about her of wind 
and fresh chill that suggests the possibility of her having 
been abroad, even on such a night as this. 

It is rainless, truly, hut the frost is biting, and the snow 
is falling softly between earth and heaven. 

Barrington, however, expresses neither surprise nor dis- 
pleasure. Eising courteously, he moves to one side, thus 
dumbly inviting her to come to the fire. 

I am not cold,^'’ she says, with a little deprecating 
gesture. 

‘‘ Exercise provides the best warmth, certainly,^ ^ returns 
he quietly. 

Yes, I have been out,^^ says Florence. 

“A little imprudent, don^t you think?^’ inquires he, 
knocking the ash off his cigar, and finally throwing the 
cigar itself (with what appears to her almost a regretful 
glance) into the fire. 

Wliatf^ she says sharply. 

‘‘Your meeting him in this sort of way, and unat- 
tended.^^ 

She starts as if shot, but rallies directly, and walks 
straight up to the fire. 

“ I didn^t know you were your own detective, she says 
coolly; “ but as it is so, I am glad of it. It simplifies mat- 
ters; and makes it easier for me to tell you why I came 
here to-night.'’^ 

She is dressed in the gown she wore at dinner, a filmy 
white stuff, and her arms are bare. They are perfectly 
molded arms, and shine now cream-white beneath the glare 
of the lamps. It occurs to Barrington at this moment that 


UGLY BAREIKGTOJST. 


29 


there would be pleasure in pressing one^s lips to such fair 
sweet flesh, but he laughs grimly to himself as the idea 
presents itself to his mind. 

After all, my words but expressed 2amental certainty, 
he says slowly; ‘‘I had nothing to build upon. Do not 
teach yourself to think more harshly of me than you need. 
When I saw you had been out, of course I knew — Well, 
and you have something to tell me, you say?^^ 

‘‘Yes; it is on my mind, and I must get rid of it. This 
life we are leading — I can stand it no longer 

“It is dull, certainly, says Mr. Barrington. “One 
can not blame you for such a speech as that. Even I find 
it insupportable.^^ 

“ Well, I am going, says Florence recklessly. 

“ Yes! And with whom?'’'' 

“You know; Kandal Mervyn,'" replies she, with a de- 
fiant glance. It is a glance, too, so full of weariness, and 
almost childish anger, that from his soul he pities her. 

“ I think, perhaps, you might have made a better 
choice, he says. “But that is your own affair. Existence 
here, I know, is barren to the last degree, but — how do you 
propose improving it:^^ 

Any change must be an improvement.^^ 

She creeps closer to the fire, as if chilled, and holds out 
her small hand to the genial warmth. A ray from the fire 
catching the diamonds in her rings draws her attention to 
them. Slowly, mechanically, she slips them from her 
fingers one#by one^ and lays them on the chimney-piece. 

“ Oh, pray don ^bdo that,^^ says Barrington. “ You will 
miss them, and they are of no earthly use to me. It seems 


30 


UGLY BAKKINGTOK. 


to me such a silly thing to make one^s self uncomfortable 
in this sort of way/^ 

I am happier without them. Of course, I might have 
gone away without giving you warning/^ she says, turning 
her face up to his; but I knew you would lay no embargo 
on my going; on the contrary,^^ bitterly, I knew you 
would rather rejoice at it.’^ 

Shall I? Well, never mind that now,^^ says Barring- 
ton; leave me out of it altogether. I don'^t suppose I 
was every really in it. You are going to try life anew with 
Mervyn, you say?^^ 

Yes.^^ Her voice is so low and tired that either excite- 
ment or passion would be almost impossible to it. 

‘^But— 

There must be no hinderances,^^ interrupts she dogged- 
ly; my mind is quite made up. If you detain me now, 
it shall be to-morrow. And if not then, some other time. 

You quite mistake me,^^ says Barrington calmly. I 
seek to place no hinderance in your way. Why should I? 
A prisoner would be to me a most embarrassing possession. 
Go where you will, /shall not seek to detain you. Indeed, 
I must thank you for your behavior on this occasion; you 
have spared the idle conjecturing and angry searching that 
usually accompany this sort of thing. It is really the most 
comfortably arranged affair of the kind that I have ever 
known. Well; and when are you going?^^ 

‘‘ As soon as possible,^^ she says, puzzled by his careless 
treatment of what she regards as a tragedy. Is her venge- 
ance, then, to be incomplete? 

It is a serious step. I should take time to consider it 


UGLY BARKINGTOX 


31 


if I were you/^ says Barrington thoughtfully. To 
change from one evil to another can hardly be termed 
wise. 

It can not at all events be a change for the worse/^ 
she says bitterly. ‘‘ To him at least I am something; to 
you, nothing. 

Are you so sure of that?^^ 

Have you ever spoken even one word of love to me? 
Do you treat me as he does?^^ 

I dare say not; but the reason for my stupidity is ob- 
vious; I never loved — I never thought of love in connection 
with a.ny one but you. He, I understand, has had consid- 
erable experience.’’^ 

‘‘It is your part to malign him,^^ she says, with cold 
disdain. 

“ There you mistake me again. I owe both him and 
you a debt of gratitude, but no grudge. You are doing me 
a very good turn, which I acknowledge. By your good- 
ness I shall be enabled to obtain a divorce; and, as the 
gods can not always prove unkind, I dare say some time 
or other in the future I shall induce some heart to love 
me.^^ 

She makes no answer to this. Something in her face — 
a vague restlessness — and her determination not to sit 
down, reduce speculation to certainty with him in a few 
minutes. 

“You are going to meet him again now?^^ he says, with 
calm question. 

“ Yes,^^ defiantly. 

“ It would be necessary, of course, to make arrange- 


32 


UGLY BARRINGTOIST. 


menfcs. You have not told me, I think, when you intend 
going?” 

‘^To-night, if possible. There is an up -train at mid- 
night. 

As she says this, still with the touch of defiance about 
her, a sigh escapes her. It does not escape him. 

But consider the cold. Why not wait until the morn- 
ing, and go up to town comfortably? Take your own 
ponies to the station, and your luggage, and that. To be 
without one^s luggage means misery. I would avoid the 
orthodox secrecy, if I v\^ere you, and the usual convention- 
alities. An affair of this kind must necessarily be vulgar; 
but, by stripping it of its worn-out trappings, I don^t see 
why you could not make something almost attractive out of 
it."" 

‘‘It is kind of you to interest yourself so much,"" she 
says sneeringly. 

“ I have always felt an interest in you."" Then sudden- 
ly, “ You are looking pale and tired. Think of the jour- 
ney that lies before you; and let me entreat you to take at 
least a glass of wine before you start."" 

“No, no!"" 

“ Why not?"" He pours out a glass as he speaks, and 
brings it to her. “ There is no reason why you should re- 
fuse to take a simple cordial from the hands of the man 
you swore ‘ to love and honor;" we will say nothing of the 
‘ obey," as it would have been my pleasure to turn the ta- 
bles, and obey your slightest whim, had things been differ- 
ent. You are going to betray me to-night; but at least let 
us part friends."" 


UGLY BAREIKGTOK. 


33 


There is a cynical smile on his lips; but, her head being 
bent, she is ignorant of it. 

Where do you meet him?^^ he asks presently. 

At the smaller gate, at the end of the garden/^ 

He has a conveyance for you?^^ 

He has a carriage.’^ 

^ ^ If he is there now you should not delay him. Re- 
member what a severe night it is. New-year^s-eve, by the 
bye. Well, I hope your next year,^^ with a courteous 
glance, will be happier than your last.^^ 

You are very kind,' ' she says. '' And now, good-bye. ' ' 
Not yet. Not here. Let me accompany you as far as 
the garden-gate. " 

You!” 

‘‘Yes. Why not? I am one of the advanced school of 
thought; one of those liberal beings who look with leniency 
upon almost anything. Why should any human thing be 
unhappy, if it can accomplish an escape from its misery? 
It is misery to you to be loitJi me or ^oitho^ct Mervyn — I 
really don't know which. You cry to yourself, ‘ Oh, that 
I had wings like a dove, for then would I flee away and be 
at rest!' Nature not having endowed you with these useful 
appendages, you wisely make another way for yourself to 
escape." 

“ Why should I take you out at this hour?" 

“ For no reason, except that I want to go. You see," 
pointing to the dog- whip beside him, “ I was really going 
out, whether or no, to the kennels. Let me see you ta 
your destination first. " 

V “ There is really no necessity," she says, drawing back. 


34 


UGLY BARRIKGTOK. 


Perhaps not. But I have a fancy to see the last of 
you. What! will you refuse this small request of mine, 
when probably we shall never meet again? Come, let me 
take you to Mervyn. When with him I shall understand 
you are in safe heeding , Again the shadow of a smile, 
replete with sarcastic bitterness, crosses his face. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good-fellowship in thee.” 

The snow has ceased to fall, and a dull moon shines 
sullenly from between two leaden clouds. It gives suffi- 
cient light, however, to let Mervyn, at the wicket-gate, see 
that two figures are approaching him instead of one. He 
starts involuntarily, and makes a movement as if to go. 

‘‘You needn^t run away,^^ says Barrington, the grave 
ghost of a humorous expression lighting his eyes. 

Thus openly addressed, Mervyn perforce comes to a 
standstill, though the desire for flight is undeniably writ- 
ten upon his brow. 

Florence, glancing nervously from one man to the other, 
tells herself at this moment there is a mental beauty that 
far outdoes the merely physical. 

“I know all about it,^^ says the ugly man impertur- 
bably. “ Mrs. Barrington, having found life with me in- 
supportable, is desirous of trying it with you. I think my- 
self she shows bad taste; but that is so natural a conceit 
that I dare say you will excuse it. She tells me you intend 
to travel. Continuous change is always to be desired on 


UGLY BAKEIKGTON. 


o5 


such occasions; but I hope you will be able to make her 
happy. She is extravagant in some ways. I like an ex- 
travagant woman myself,, says Barrington, pleasantly. 
‘‘ But it doesn't suit all purses. " 

I don't understand you," says Mervyn, with a miser- 
able attempt at haughtiness. 

Then I must try to make my meaning clearer. Look 
here," says Barrington, changing his tone suddenly, and 
turning sharply upon the other, let us drop hints, and 
come to business. You are in debt, as I know ; you are 
on the point of absolute ruin, as I suspect. In six months 
you will not have enough money to keep yourself going, to 
say nothing of another. I give you a chance of beginning 
a new life elsewhere. If you will leave this*place dlojie to- 
morrow I will give you £5000." 

The crisp clear voice ceases, and silence follows it. Mrs. 
Barrington, throwing back her hood from her face, stares 
with passionate impatience at* the man in whose love she 
had believed a minute ago. Will he never speak? Is there 
to be a hesitation, a choice, between Tier and a paltry sum 
of money? 

If I thought," he stammers at last lamely, that iii 
would be for Tier happiness to leave her in peace, I — " 

If you are about to make any allusion to Mrs. Barring- 
ton, I must beg you to leave it unsaid," interrupts Mrs. 
Barrington's husband unpleasantly. Come to the point. 
You will take the money, and be gone?" 

There is another* silence^ even more distressing than the 
last. Florence, immovable as a statue, stands erect; Bar- 
rington is beating his foot angrily on the ground. As for 


3G 


UGLiT* BABRIKGTOK. 


Mervyn; — he* 1*5 ruined — there was no exaggeration in that 
suspicion — and the money is a temptation, and — 

Well, considering all 1 am giving up — he begins, too 
confused, perhaps, to comprehend the enormity of his 
words. 

There, don^t be a greater blackguard than is strictly 
necessary,^^ says George Barrington, cutting him short with 
a frown. You accept my terms? That is well. To- 
morrow morning you shall have my check, and now— you 
shall have this 

In a second he has twined his hand in Mervyn^'s collar, 
and brought him on his knees before him. Raising the 
dog-whip, he brings it down with uncontrollable fury upon 
his shoulders again and again, until the miserable craven 
cries aloud for mercy, groveling at the very feet of the 
woman to whom he had been half a hero at least, an hour 
agone. With a final cut, Barrington flings him far from 
him, and, taking Florence's hand with impulsive haste, 
hurries her toward the house fintil they are out of sight 
and hearing of the frightened wretch they have left behind. 

Then, the fierce fit of passion and revenge over, Barring- 
ton stops and breathes heavily. The livid pallor departs 
from his lips, the baleful fire from his eyes; he even smiles. 

Florence, terrified, breaks into bitter weeping, 

Come home, you little silly fool,^^ says Ugly Barring- 
ton, not altogether unkindly; and then he actually laughs 
aloud, as he may who wins. But presently, seeing how 
she sobs and trembles, he goes nearer to her, and finally 
places his arm round her. 

But she shrinks from him. 


UGLY BAERINGTON. 


37 


I wonder you can bear to touch me/^ she says, shiver- 
ing. “ I suppose, after this, my best place is with my 
father. 

‘‘Your best place is with your husband, says George 
Barrington, “ if you will only trust him.^^ 

“ Oh, George, that word trust undoes me quite! How 
can you trust me 

“ I would trust you with my life— nay, with far more, 
my honor — this very moment, says Barrington, simply, 
“ in spite of all that has come and gone. A woman who 
found a difficulty in running away from her husband, with- 
out first apprising him of her intention, can^t have much 
the matter with her. Let us forget to-night. It is known 
but to that cilr and you and me; and he, I fancy, will be 
slow to speak of it.^^ 

“ But you will thinh of it.^^ 

“ Not I; or even if I do, it will be only to laud myself 
afresh for my clever treatment of a grievous evil. I un- 
masked a villain just at the right moment, and before the 
necessary witness. 

“Tf you had treated me differently just at first— had 
shown me that you loved me — 

“ Nay, then I should have been a clumsy fool, and have 
lost my game. Now I breathe the air of heaven with re- 
newed lungs, and hope again there is still a chance to win 
your love. 

“ ‘ Hope, that some fool has called the anchor of the 
soul,^ murmurs she, copying the tone and words he had 
used on the evening of their marriage to a nicety. He 
smiles, and she smiles, too, because youth is warm within 


38 


UGLY BARRINGTOK. 


her^ and it is so hard to be always sighing. Still, the smile 
is followed by a sigh. 

But the ice being slightly broken he bends down to her, 
and kisses her warmly. 

‘^That is the first real kiss I have ever dared to give 
you,^ ^ he says, his plain face lighting up until it is nearly 
handsome. Now I begin to woo you in earnest. And 
there is one thing, sweetheart: let no sense of mistaken 
gratitude, of revulsion of feeling, induce you to fancy you 
love me until you really do. Let me be your suitor for the 
present. 

She makes him no answer to this. They have regained 
the house now; entering the hall, a glow of warmth smites 
on their hands and faces. 

At least tell me,^^ he says, looking into her nervous 
eyes, that you find it pleasanter returning to a warm fire 
than to be hurrying, on such a night as this, through sleet 
and snow.^^ 

She shudders. 

‘‘What have you not saved me fromT^ she says. She 
half puts out her hand, as though to touch him, and then 
timidly draws it back again. 

“ Now, I will have none of that,^^ he says, in his master- 
ful but tender fashion, taking her hand and laying it upon 
his heart. 

“ There is one thing, she says, with downcast lids. 
“ Since our marriage, though I have not kissed you, I have 
at least kissed no one else."^^ She blushes excessively as she 
says this, but she lifts her head and looks him very fairly 
in the eyes. He draws his breath quickly. 


UGLY BAKKINGTON. 


39 


“ I tlianV you for that/’ he says; and then more lightly, 
“ after all, I believe your liking for him was more fancy 
than anything else.” 

“ And obstinacy,” confesses she, in a low tone. “ My 
father was so averse to him; and besides, he used to say 
sweet words to me when all the world seemed unkind. 

“ And when 1 , who should have protected you, was silent 
and reserved. The blame must rest with me, for I was the 
better man of the two,” says Barrington boldly, “ and 
should have found victory easy. After all,” quaintly, 
“ there are other things as worthy of commendation as a 
Grecian nose.” 

“Ah! what is that?” exclaims she, starting violently. 
Even as she speaks the sound of the calm, sweet, solemn 
bells ringing in the New-year is borne to them upon the 
wings of the rushing wind. 

“ It is another year begun,” says Barrington, gravely. 
“ Let us pray that in it may be found happiness for us!” 


BETTY’S VISIONS. 


By RHODA BROUGHTON. 


HEE FIRST VISION. 

“I CAN see nothing unnatural about her says the 
mother, with an aggrieved accent on the adjective. She 
is a remarkably nice child, if that is unnatural. Every 
one says she is a remarkably nice child, every one but 
you.^^ 

Did I say that she was not a remarkably nice child 
retorts he, nettled; should I be likely to say that my own 
child was not a nice child 

You said that she was unnatural, what more could 
you have said of her if she had had two heads 

How you harp upon a mere word!^^ replies he, crossly; 
^Mf I said unnatural, I only meant that she was not like 
other children. 

If, as I incline to think, since EacheFs arrival, to be 
like other children means to be voracious, idle, and un- 
civil, I am not sorry she is unlike other children. 

Perhaps because he feels that he is getting the worst of 
it, Mr. Brewster declines into silence, and walking to the 
window, stands there, whistling subduedly, and watching 
the object of dispute and her cousin Rachel, both at pres- 

( 40 ) 


BETTY^S VISIOKS. 


41 


ent visible upon the lawn. But, though they are both in 
the same place, their occupations are dissimilar. Kachel, 
seated in the fork of the mulberry-tree, to which she had 
hoydenishly climbed, is gnawing an unripe apple, rudely 
snatched, half-eaten, from one of the boys; while little 
Betty, the daughter of the house, is soberly walking over 
the sward beside a stout, middle-aged gentleman, one of 
whose hands she is quietly caressing with both hers. 

Uncommonly fond little miss of her uncle resumed 
Mr. Brewster, presently, in a not very complacent tone; 

I never heard of any child being so fond of an uncle. I 
am sure I was not when 1 was a boy. I remember one of 
mine giving me a precious good licking because I filled his 
top-boots with cold water 

And richly you deserved it!^^ retorts his wife. 

‘‘ But as to Miss Betty, continued he. 

Miss Betty is a very amiable child, ^Mnterrupts Mrs. 
Brewster, with a not altogether amiable accent on her 
daughter's name. 

I never said she was not,^^ rejoins he, with a testiness 
born of the implied slur upon the amiability of his own in- 
fancy. All I say is that there is something un — 

Natural, he is going to add; but, bethinking himself 
in time how gravely displeasing the expression is to his 
wife, he pulls himself up. Perhaps she is grateful to him 
for his self-control. Perhaps the various little shafts she 
has winged at him have eased her spleen, for she says 
presently, in a far better humored voice — 

She is uncommonly fond of him; of course he is a 
very good fellow, being your brother (with a little mali- 


42 


BETTY^S VISIOKS. 


cious laugh); how could he help being? But I confess I 
can not see his attraction. I really do not know/ ^ she 
adds^ thoughtfully^ how I shall break to the child that 
he is going on Tuesday. 

‘‘ Whatever you do, do not put it olf till the last mo- 
ment/^ says he, hastily, or we shall be having a scene. 

She never makes scenes, replies Mrs. Brewster, 
coldly. 

I wish she did; she would not feel things so deeply if 
she made scenes. 

‘‘Well, as he is only going for a fortnight to Maiden- 
head,^^ returns Betty ^s father, with a short laugh, “ in my 
humble opinion it will be rather a. waste of deep feeling in 
this case; it is like the parson who preached from the text, 
‘ Knowing well that they should see his face no more, ^ and 
took an affecting farewell of his congregation when he was 
only going by a penny boat down to Margate. 

“ You must remember that to a child a fortnight is as 
long as two years would be to old people like you and me,'’^ 
replies his wife, passing by with grave contempt the dubi- 
ous facetiousness of her husband ^s illustration; and as she 
speaks she leaves the room. 

The dreaded Tuesday has come. The carriage that 
bears away the beloved Uncle John has driven from the 
door. The whole family — gathered to bid him God-speed 
on the door-step — have again dispersed to their various 
avocations. Eachel, having pumped up a few noisy and 
unnecessary tears — tears speedily dried by half a dozen 
cobnuts thrust into her hand by the warmest-hearted of the 
boys — has gone off rabbiting with the latter, forgetful and 


BETTY^S VISIONS. 


43 


elate; a bag of ferrets in her lily hand. Betty, who, on 
the contrary, has not cried at all, remains rooted to the 
door-step, silent and still; her eyes fastened to the spot 
where the departing vehicle had last blessed her sight. 

Why, in Heaven^s name, if she is so cut up, can not 
she cry?^'’ says Mr. Brewster to his wife, as they saunter 
away together toward the garden. ‘ ^ If Eachel or the boys 
are in trouble, one can not hear one^s self speak for the noise 
of their sorrow; I do not care what you say, there is some- 
thing unna — 

The forbidden word dies half spoken on his lips. 

She will get over it,^^ replies the mother, throwing 
back a compassionate look at the disconsolate little figure 
still rooted to the door-step; she will outgrow it. I be- 
lieve that I was a very odd child, and you must own — 
(laughing) — that there is nothing veiy odd about me 
now. 

Five days have passed. ^^July,^^ as Horace Walpole 
said, has set in with its usual severity. After a brief 
spell of tantalizing sunshine, just to show what weather 

can and ought to be, shire has relapsed into its normal 

state of drip, drip. It has . poured all day. All day the 
rooms have rung with the din of the bored and house- 
bound children. From the school-room have issued noi- 
some smells of amateur cooking; squeals as of a pinched 
Eachel; yells, as of retahated-upon boys; yelps of trodden- 
on dogs; Bob's voice; Bill's voice; Geoffrey's voice; 
highest, shrillest of all, Eachel' s voice. But among all the 
voices, there is not to be detected one tone of httle Betty's. 
She is not even with them; is not even playing her usual 


44 


BETTY^S VISIOifS. 


part of meek souffre douleur. All through the rainy day 
she has sat alone in a disused attic, often haunted by her, 
sat among old trunks and family pictures that have had 
their day, and now live with their pale faces to the wall; 
has sat watching those cunning mathematicians, the 
spiders, spin their nice webs; and the little nervous mice 
dart noiselessly in and out of their wainscot homes. It has 
grown dark now; too dark, one would think, even for the 
spikers to see to weave their webs, but perhaps they do not 
need sight. Perhaps they go on weaving, weaving all 
through the night. Mrs. Brewster is sitting in her bou- 
doir. Her husband is dining out, and she is alone. It is 
not an eveniug on which one would choose to be alone; an 
evening on which the wet tree boughs slap the window, 
and the rain comes sometimes even down the chimney; 
making the lire spit and fizz. It is the sort of evening on 
which, looking* out into the straining dusk, one might ex- 
pect to see a Banshee ^s weird face pressed against the pane. 
Some such nervous thought as this has prompted Mrs. 
Brewster to stretch out her hand to the bell, to ring for the 
servant to draw the curtains, when the door noiselessly 
opens, and her little daughter enters. 

Betty cries the mother, in a cross tone, for there is 
something ghostly and that harmonizes with her vague 
fears, in the child'^s soundless mode of entry, nt;t in bed 
yet? It is nine o^ clock! What do you mean?^^ 

Betty makes no answer. She has silently advanced out 
of the shadows that enwrap the further end of the room, 
into the little radius of red light diffused by the wood 
fire. 


BETTY^S VISIOKS. 


45 


“ What is the matter with you? Why do you not 
speak cries Mrs. Brewster^ irritably. The child is beside 
her now^ and her eyes are lifted to her mother ^s; and yet 
the latter feels that they are somehow not looking at her, 
but, as it were, at some object beyond her. 

What is the matter with you?^^ repeats she, with grow- 
ing nervous ill-humor, shaking the little girl by the 
shoulder. 

Then Betty speaks. Uncle John is dead she says, 
in a level, dreaming voice. I know it; he touched me 
on the shoulder as he passed by. 

What nonsense are you talking?^ ^ cries Mrs. Brewster, 
angrily. How can Uncle John have touched you when 
he is a hundred and twenty miles away? What do you 
mean by telling such a silly falsehood?^ ^ 

The child does not answer. She neither retracts nor re- 
asserts her statement. She only stands perfectly still, with 
that odd, unseeing look in her eyes. 

If you do not know how to behave more rationally you 
had better go to bed,^^ says the mother, displeased and 
frightened — she scarcely knows at what — and noiselessly 
and still, as if in a dream, Betty obeys. 

The morni]ig has come, and it and the sunshine it has 
brought with it, have dispersed and routed the eerie terrors 
of the night. 

Sitting in her light and cheerful boudoir, Mrs. Brewster 
has forgotten with how creepy a feeling she had looked 
into its dark corners over night. She has forgotten also 
Betty^s strange speech, and her own ire at it. She is smil- 
ing to herself at the recollection of some little whimsical 


46 


BETTY^S VISIONS. 


incident of Ms dinner-party, retailed to her by her hus- 
band, when that husband enters. 

“ A telegram?” says she, seeing a flimsy pink paper in 
his hand. “ From whom? No bad news, I hope?” She 
says it without violent emotion, all that the world holds of 
great importance to her being safely housed witMn the 
same walls as she. 

Mr. Brewster does not answer. 

“ From John, I suppose?” suggests she, calmly. “ He 
is coming back sooner than he intended..’^ 

Then, surprised at his silence and looking up for the first 
time into his face — 

” Good heavens, what is it?” 

For all answer he puts the paper into her hand, and her 
eye in an instant has drunk its contents. “ From Mr. 
Smith, Skindle’s Hotel, Maidenhead. To Mr. Brewster, 

Taplington Grande, shire. Accident on the river last 

night. Colonel Brewster drowned. Body just recovered. 
Come at once.” 

Mrs. Brewster has turned very pale; but at such news a 
change of color is not surprising. 

“ Last night!” she says, Betty’s speech flashing sudden- 
ly back upon her mind. 

“ What time last night? It does not say what 
time. ” 

“ What does the exact time matter?” replies he, gruffly; 
turning away his head with an Englishman’s unconquera- 
ble aversion from being seen, even by a wife, under the in- 
fluence of any emotion. He had liked Ms brother; and is 
thinking of the time when they were little boys together. 


BETTY'S VISIONS. 


47 


It does matter!" she cries, excitedly. It does! it 
does!" 

But he has left the room to give hasty directions relative 
to his departure, which immediately follows. On the next 
day he returns, bringing with him his brother's body, and 
such details of the catastrophe that had caused that broth- 
er's death, as are ever likely to be arrived at. Upon that 
ill-starred evening, the weather at Maidenhead, unlike that 
in — — shire, had been fine, and Colonel Brewster had, 
according to his frequent habit after dinner, taken a boat 
and sculled himself on the river. He had not returned at 
his usual hour, which excited some slight surprise at the 
hotel, but not much alarm was felt until early on the ensu- 
ing morning, when his hat was brought in by a country- 
man, who had found it near the bank of the river, and had 
also seen a skiff floating, keel uppermost, further out in 
the stream. Drags were immediately procured, and after 
half an hour's search the body was discovered half a mile 
lower down the river in a bed of rushes. By what accident 
the boat had capsized, and its occupant, an excellent swim- 
mer, lost his life, will probably never be known. Only the 
fact remains, that on the evening of his death his niece, at 
the distance of one hundred and twenty miles away, had 
become aware of its having taken place. She expressed no 
surprise at the news, nor ever revealed, further than by 
that once sentence, how she had become apprised of it. 
This was her First Vision. 


48 


BETTY'S VISIONS. 


HEE SECOND VISION. 

Time has been galloping away. It has begun to gallop 
even with Betty; for she is grown up. At eighteen, time 
gallops, though not violently; at thirty-eight, it outstrips 
an express train; and at fifty-eight it leaves the electric 
telegraph behind it. Betty is eighteen, and full-grown. 
No longer is she measured, with heels together and chin 
tucked in, against the school-room door; since, for the last 
year, she has continued stationary at that final inch in the 
paint which proclaims that her height is to remain at five 
feet five inches, until, that is, the epoch, which arrives 
sooner than we expect it, when she will begin to grow down 
again. She has developed into a demure, pale comeliness; 
and no one any longer thinks her odd. Her father no 
longer considers her as unnatural; and his altercations 
with her mother on the subject of her (Betty's) eccentrici- 
ties have long died into silence. At eighteen, there is 
nothing eccentric in being indifferent to dolls, and averse 
from ferrets; in speaking with a soft voice, and liking 
rather to walk than to run, in seeking solitude, and being 
able to look at a loaded apple-tree without any desire to 
swarm up it. With the good word of many, and the ill 
word of few, Betty takes her still course along life's path; 
a little thrown into the shade, perhaps, by her cousin 
Eachel, who has shot up into a very fine young woman— a 
splendid young female athlete, whose achievements in 
hunting-field, or on frozen river, in ball-room, or on ten- 
nis-ground, are admired by all the country-side, and in the 


BETTT^S VISIONS. 


49 


wake of whose glories Betty follows with distant, unenvy- 
ing humility. 

It is a winter evening, crisp and stilly cold, and in the 
once school-room, now elevated and transmogrified by the 
aid of a clean paper and a few girlish gimcracks into a 
grown-up sitting-room, are the cousins. They are stand- 
ing side by side at the window, having pulled back the cur- 
tain, and are looking out, as well as the hard frost-flowers 
on the pane will let them, at the moon-ennobled snow. 

You will have a moon!^^ says Betty. 

At this time to-morrow, as nearly as possible, I shall 
be getting there, rejoins Eachel, with a sort of dance in 
her voice. I wish they had asked you too.^^ 

I do not think that I do,^^ says Betty, reflectively; let- 
ting her finger travel slowly down the window, in the effort 
— a vain one, since they are on the other side of the glass 
— to reach the airy frost traceries. ‘‘ I do not think that I 
enjoy things much at first hand. When you come back 
and describe them they sound entrancing 

I do not see how this visit can help being entrancing 
cries Eachel, pursuing her own joyous anticipations. 

And yet visits do help it,^^ answers Betty, with gentle 
cynicism. 

Two balls and a play! Skating if it freezes; hunting 
if it thaws!^^ continues Eachel, triumphantly; checking off 
on her fingers her promised pleasures. ‘ ‘ I can not think 
why they did not ask you!^^ 

I can,^^ replies Betty, with a grave smile, since they 
could get the plums without the dough, they were quite 
wise to do so; but (with a change of tone to a wistful in- 


50 


BETTY'S VISIOm 


tonation) however delightful they may be^ you will come 
home for Christmas?" 

By the number of times you have asked me that ques- 
tion it is evident that you think I shall not/' answers 
Eacheb with a good-humored impatience. 

There is nobody cheers up mother in the way you do/' 
pursues Betty, leaning her elbow on the sill and looking 
pensively out at the steely December stars. If one want- 
ed a proof, which one does not, of what a melancholy world 
this is, one would have it in the fact of the extreme grati- 
tude that people feel for mere animal spirits in any one." 

‘‘Mere animal spirits!" repeats Eachel, laughing light- 
ly; “ thank you for the compliment." 

“ I really do not know how I shall break it to the boys if 
you do not come back for the Workhouse tea and the serv- 
ants' ball," says Betty, gravely. 

“ But I shall! I shall! I shall!" cries the other, reso- 
lutely; “ dead or alive you will see me back on Ohristmas- 
eve!" She repeats the assertion emphatically afc her de- 
parture next day, leaning a radiant face out of the 
brougham window to blow kisses to the three grave persons 
assembled on the door-step, and to bid her God-speed, as 
they and she had assembled to bid Uncle John God-speed 
some seven years ago. 

“ She will have a moon," says Betty, following with her 
serious, youthful eyes the carriage as it rolls briskly away. 

“ She ought to be there in a couple of hours. It is not 
more than eighteen miles, and the roads are good. Gad! 
it is cold!" says Mr. Brewster, rubbing his hands and turn- 
ing to re-enter the house, whither his wife has already pre- 


BETTY^S VISIONS. 


51 


ceded him, and resumed her occupation of that sofa where, 
from some real or imagined sickness, she now spends the 
major part of her life. There, some good while later, her 
husband finds her stretched, discomposed and fretful. Her 
work is disarranged; her silks are mixed; she can not sort 
the colors by candle-light; Eachel always managed them 
for her. 

‘‘ She must be nearly at Hinton now,^^ says Mr. Brews- 
ter, intermitting for a moment his back- warming process 
to glance at the clock on the chimney-piece behind him, 
and glad of a topic by which to divert the current of his 
wife^s plaints; the roads are good, and there is a moon as 
big as a cart-wheel. I am glad I did not let her have the 
young horses, as she wanted, pursues he, in a self-con- 
gratulatory tone; they take a great deal of driving. 

: I can not think what I am to do without her for a 

whole week,^^ sighs Mrs. Brewster, pettishly. Who is to 
tell whether this is blue or green sitting up and helpless- 
iy comparing two skeins of filosel by the light of the shaded 
lamp that stands beside her couch. Where is Betty? 
She would be better than nobody. I do not know how it 
is,^^ with a distinct access of fractiousness, but that girl 
always manages to be out of the way whenever one wants 
her.^^ 

Talk of the devil, cries her father, cheerfully; here 
she is. And in effect, as he speaks, his daughter enters, 
and moves slowly to the fire. 

Your eyes are better than mine, Betty, says the 
mother, holding out her dubious silks for her child^s in- 
spection; then suddenly, as she lifts her look to the gii’Ts 


52 


Betty’s visions. 


face, c}ia.Tiging her tone, “ what is the matter with you?” 
she asks, abruptly; “ how odd you look!” 

Betty has paused beside her mother’s sofa; and her eyes, 
wide open, yet unseeing as those of a somnambulist, are 
fixed unthinkingly upon her. 

“ Rachel is dead,” she says, in a distinct, level, passion- 
less voice, as of one speaking in a dream. “ I know it! 
She touched me on the knee as she went by. ” 

Mr. Brewster has dropped his coat tails, and Mrs. Brews- 
ter her silks, and both are staring open-mouthed, aghast, 
and dumb at their daughter. Mr. Brewster is the first to 
recover his speech. 

“ What gibberish are you talking?” cries he, roughly; 
putting his hand on the girl’s wrist. “ Are you walking 
in your sleep? Wake up!” 

But Betty makes no answer. She turns slowly, as one 
who has accomplished her errand, and walks as dreamily 
out of the room as sbe had entered it. 

Mrs. Brewster has tottered up from her sofa, trembling 
like a leaf, and crying copiously. 

“ How can you pay any heed to such rubbish?” asks her 
husband, angrily. “ The girl is hysterical. She would be 
all the better for having a bucket of cold water thrown over 
her. We have always let her have her own way too much, 
that is it. ” 

But Mrs. Brewster is sobbing violently. 

“ Do you not remember?” she cries. “ It was just the 
same, she said just the same years ago, when she was a 
child, when John died. ” 

“ Fiddlesticks!” says he, in a fury. “ Who would have 


BETTY VISIONS. 


53 


expected a woman of your sense to be so puerilely supersti- 
tious? A mere coincidence. Eachel dead! Ha! ha! She 
must have been pretty quick about it. Come now, think 
— (laying his hand friendly and reasonably upon her trem- 
bling shoulder) — what is likely to have happened to her 
in less than two hours? If she had had the young horses, 
I grant you, it would have been a different thing, but as it 
is — there, that is better. Let me get you some sal-volatile, 
and when next I see Miss Betty I will give her a piece of 
my mind for upsetting you in this way. 

Mr. Brewster^ s eloquence, though not of a very lofty 
order, is yet of sufficient force gradually to soothe his wife 
into comparative composure, and, when to his reasonings 
he has added the promise, given with a good-humored 
shrug, that a servant on horseback shall be sent off first 
thing in the morning to inquire after EacheBs welfare, the 
poor lady is so far restored to her normal state of faint and 
intermittent cheerfulness, that she is able to sit down to 
dinner with tolerable appetite. Betty does not appear; 
which, though neither of her parents confess it, is a relief 
to both. Mr. Brewster is not generally much given to 
table-talk. Being of a hungry and slightly epicure turn, 
he is of opinion that it is impossible to do two things well 
at once, but to-day he puts forth his powers magnanimously 
to amuse his wife; and the ball of talk is fiying briskly 
from one to the other, when the butler, approaching his 
master, and even so far breaking through the traditions of 
his trade as to interrupt him in the middle of a speech, in- 
forms him in an undertone that there is a person in the 
hall who wishes to speak to him, 


54 


BETTY'S VISIONS. 


“ Let him wish!'' says Mr. Brewster^ somewhat surly at 
having the thread of his eloquence untimely snapped. 

Did not you tell him I was at dinner? He may wait." 

If you please, sir, he says he must see you," rejoins 
the butler, with respectful persistence. I beg your par- 
don, sir " (lowering his voice still further, and looking 
meaningly toward Mrs. Brewster, whose attention is at the 
moment wholly occupied by the feeding of a couple of cats), 

but I think you had better see him." 

There is something so odd and emphatic in the servant's 
manner, that, without offering any further objection, Mr. 
Brewster jumps up and hastens into the adjoining hall. 
There seem to be several persons in it; maid-servants 
whimpering with their aprons to their eyes; but the center 
of interest is obviously a young man, leaning with shaking 
limbs and a sheet-white face, against the oak table in the 
middle of the hall. Instantly, Mr. Brewster has recognized 
him as one of the sons of the house to which his niece had 
gone. In a moment he is beside him. 

What is it?" he says, hoarsely. Then, as the young 
fellow struggles in vain for utterance, What is it?" he 
repeats, shaking him by the shoulder. In God's name, 
speak out!" 

Perhaps there is a bracing power in the harshness of his 
adjuration, for the stranger speaks. 

There — there has been an accident," he says, indis- 
tinctly. Your — your niece — " 

Yes?" 

She— she— " 

Again he stops, looking as if he were about to faint. 


BETTY^S VISIOKS. 


55 


For God^s sake, go on!’^ says Mr. Brewster, hoarsely. 

Harris, give him some brandy. 

It is not until he has swallowed it that the young man is 
able to proceed. 

At the corner of Hampton Lane, in a field, there was 
a rick on fire. The horses took fright, bolted, and upset 
the carriage into the ditch. Miss Brewster was thrown ofi.^^ 

Thrown off! What do you mean? Why, she was in- 
side!^^ 

She was driving. She had put the men-servants in- 
side. She and her maid were on the box. She was thrown 
violently against some spiked iron railings, and when she 
was taken up she was — 

Dead?^^ asks Mr. Brewster, gripping the young man^s 
arm and speaking in a husky whisper. ‘‘ Dead?^^ 

The attention of every one in the room has been so 
wholly riveted upon the speakers, that no one has perceived 
the opening of the dining-room door and the appearance of 
a figure on the threshold, until a terrible loud hysteric 
laugh breaks upon their ears. 

Dead?^^ shrieks Mrs. Brewster. Dead? Then it 
was true; then Betty was right. And so falls heavily to 
the floor in a dead swoon. 


56 


BETTY'S VISIOli^S. 


HER THIRD VISION. 

The blow does not kill Mrs. Brewster. Her acquaint- 
ances are all agreed that it must^ since for years past 
their and her doctor has gone about the neighborhood 
proclaiming the unparalleled weakness of her heart. But 
apparently it is not so weak as he had imagined, since, after 
such a shock, it still goes on pulsing, however feebly. 
Weakly people, with one leg habitually planted in the 
grave, take a great deal of killing; but the catastrophe 
turns her at once into a hopeless invalid. After that day 
she never resumes the habits of health. But as time goes 
on her valetudinarian ways assume a permanence and sta- 
bility with which those about her as little connect the idea 
of change and death as with their own robuster modes of 
life. Never to appear till one o'clock in the afternoon, 
never to join her family at dinner, never to be seen except 
in a recumbent posture, never to be told anything disa- 
greeable. These are the features of her case; features 
which may probably remain long after many of the healthy 
persons who come to visit her, and who insensibly sink and 
soften their voices on entering her dim and shaded room, 
have been carried, feet foremost, to the church-yard. It 
need hardly be said that no allusion either to her niece's 
violent death, or her daughter's strange prevision of it is ever 
allowed in Mrs. Brewster's presence. And though no doc- 
tor has prohibited the communicating of any number of 
disagreeable truths to Mr. Brewster, yet neither does he 


BETTY^S VISION^S. 


57 


ever allude to the facts above referred to. To whom should 
he, indeed? To Betty, then? But as to Betty, both her 
lips are shut in a silence as close as that of death. On be- 
ing told of her cousin^ s tragic end, she had expressed no 
more surprise than she had manifested seven years before, 
on hearing of the death by drowning, of her uncle John. 
Not the slightest hint as to the mode in which the catas- 
trophe had been communicated to her has ever fallen from 
her. It is even a matter of doubt to her father whether 
any consciousness or remembrance of it remains with her. 
Sometimes, as he sees her seated tranquilly working or qui- 
etly reading, with as humdrum and every-day an air as it 
is possible for any human being to be dressed in, a poignant 
desire assails him to question her as to those strange and 
supernatural intimations, of which she has twice been the 
recipient. But always a sort of reluctant awe restrains 
him. And meanwhile, life flows dully by in the old house. 
The boys are out in the world, and return but seldom to 
the house whence their bright playfellow has been borne 
to the grave. There is nothing to amuse them when they 
do return, since the state of Mrs. Brewster^ s health pre- 
cludes (or she thinks so, which comes to the same thing) 
the possibility of society. Betty has quietly abandoned the 
world at eighteen, in order to -devote herself more com- 
pletely to her parents. To speak more exactly, to her 
parent; for Mr. Brewster is of a social turn, and would 
fain take his daughter into the world with him, making 
her an excuse for his own presence at festivities abroad and 
merry-makings at home. But how can he have the inhu- 
manity to set up his coarse and brutal claims against those 


58 


BETTY^S VISIOI^S. 


far more sacred ones of his moribund wife? He is fond 
of music; but^ since EacheFs fingers were stiffened in 
deaths no one has dared to open the piano; the least hint 
of such an intention would replunge the sickly wife and 
mother into those terrible hysterics, from which it is the 
main end of life with her nearest kin to keep her and them- 
selves. And so, poor, convivial Mr. Brewster, except when 
some one charitably asks him out to dinner, nods through 
the dull evenings over his newspaper, or tries to feign an 
interest he is far from feeling in the game of patience 
which is the one excitement of his good lady^s life. In 
complete unconsciousness, that good lady pursues her gen- 
tle way, quietly and simply accepting the sacrifice of the 
two lives daily offered on her invalid altar, and, with equal 
simplicity, the owners of those two lives unite in the cult 
of sanctified selfishness embodied in the charmingly dressed, 
diaphanous, prostrate being who has succeeded in delicately 
snuffing out all the mirth of their existence. It is three 
years since Eachel died, or, to speak more exactly, three 
years and a quarter, for it was in the deepest, blackest 
depth of winter that she went, and now the long-stretching 
light, the bold crocus rows, the courting thrushes, all tell 
that spring has come. 

Betty is twenty-one years old, for it was in the spring 
that she came, a spring gift blown in by the bustling March 
winds. 

Twenty-one! twenty-one she says over to herself. 
It seems to her a great age. She wonders whether it 
strikes other people in the same light. 

‘‘ Father!^^ she says, putting her arms about his neck as 


BETTY^S VlSIOi^S. 


59 


he sits running his eye rather disconsolately over the theat- 
rical announcements in The Times/^ Do you know 
what an elderly daughter you have got? I am twenty-one 
to-day 

Twenty-one?^^ repeats he, with a jump. You do 
not say so. God bless my soul!^^ 

He sighs heavily, but, trying to turn it oif into a cough, 
cries cheerfully: 

Well, I am to give you a present, I suppose. Is that 
what it means? Well, what is it to be? A new gown — a 
necklace — what ? 

But Betty shakes her head. 

I never wear out my old gowns, and who would see my 
necklace ?^^ 

What do you say to a little outing?^^ asks he. 

He says it in a low voice, as if he knew that it was a 
proposition of a contraband nature, and nervously glances 
over his shoulder as he makes it. 

A little jaunt — quite a little one. It is so long since 
you and I have had a jaunt together, Betty. 

But again Betty shakes her head. 

Impossible she says, reproachfully; and yet a little 
regretfully, too. How could mother spare us?’"’ 

Not for long, of course, rejoins he, hastily, but 
just a run up to London for a couple of nights. We might 
be there and back almost before she had time to miss us; 
just a run up to see a play. 

^^It is a long time^^ (rather ruefully) since I have 
seen a play/^ says Betty. 

She is leaning over his chair,, her arms round his 


60 


BETTY ""S VISIOJ^S. 


neck, and is reading the theatrical announcements with 
him. 

‘‘Lyceum, Strand, Vaudeville, she says, with a little 
sigh, that shows that she, too, is nibbling at the tempta- 
tion. “ How nice they all look!^^ 

“ We will do a couple of plays, Betty!^^ cries her father, 
audaciously, and in a higher key than he has yet spoken in. 
“I see that they are giving that old piece, ‘ The First 
Night, ^ at the Court. It was the first play I ever saw. 
My father took me to it when I was quite a little chap. 
Horace Wigan played in it. You do not remember Horace 
AVigan? No! Why should we not go to-morrow, eh?^^ 

His daughter has put up her hand apprehensively to 
check him. 

“'Hush!^'' she says, hurriedly; “ here is mother!^^ And 
in effect, as she speaks, the folding-doors have been thrown 
open; and, as always happens at this hour of the day, Mrs. 
Brewster is wheeled slowly in on a couch out of her bed- 
room; Mrs. Brewster, prostrate, transparent, suffering, as 
usual. In a moment the husband ^s voice has sunk to a 
subdued invalid pitch: 

“ How are you to-day, dear?^^ he asks, hastening to his 
wife^s side, and kindly taking her languid hand, “ any bet- 
ter? 

“ I shall never be better in this world, replies she, ex- 
hilaratingly; “ but (her sick eyes wandering suspiciously 
from one to the other of her two companions) “ what 
is it that I am not to hear, Betty? Why did you say 
‘ hush 

There is a moment of confused silence, uneasily broken 


BETTY^S VISIONS. 


01 


by Mr. Brewster. ‘‘ Betty has been telling me that she is 
twenty-one to-day. 

She could hardly object to my hearing that/'’ replies 
her mother, dryly. Come, Betty, what was it?"^ 

It was only that father was talking nonsense; you know 
that he does sometimes,^'’ replies the girl, with a little con- 
strained laugh, kneeling down beside her mother^s sofa, 
and raising her thin fingers. 

I am not at all sure that it was such nonsense, after 
all!'’^ says he, speaking in a rather blustering voice, which 
his daughter knows to conceal much inward misgiving. 

I — I — was only proposing to — to — ^take her for a little 
outing, you see (after a pause, as his proposition is re- 
ceived in entire silence), you see (growing nervous), 
‘‘ she — she has not a very lively time of it — for a girl mewed 
up with us two old people. 

Still silence. At last, I am sorry that you are so dull, 
Betty, says the invalid, in a wounded voice, withdrawing 
her hand. Why did you not tell me so before But 
at this, poor Betty collapses into sobs. 

‘‘Good God!^^ cries Mr. Brewster, starting up and 
stamping about the room for a moment, forgetful of the 
sanctity of the spot. “ I mean, bless me, Maria, my dear, 
what has the poor girl done?^^ Marians answer is what the 
answer of any invalid who respects herself must inevitably 
be, a sinking fiat back on her pillows, with hands and feet 
grown suddenly rigid, in a faint, so admirably counter- 
feited', as to take in even herself. Mr. Brewster is quietly, 
and perhaps a little compassionately, hustled out of the 
room by his daughter, and thus in disastrous ignominy his 


62 


BETTY^S VISIONS. 


bold project ends. And yet — such are the tides in the 
affairs of men — on that very day week he is buying 
Worlds/^ and Truths/^ and Queens for Betty at 
the station^ to beguile their joint journey up to London, for 
that very outing upon which Mrs. Brewster would seem to 
have put so complete an extinguisher. And, stranger still, 
it is Mrs. Brewster herself who sends them. Whether it is 
the sight of her patient daughter, or of the clumsy, yet most 
genuinely remorseful husband, or some pinch of her own 
not dead but only slumbering conscience that effects the 
change, is of little moment. Certain it is that it is effected. 

What day do you set off she asks, suddenly, one 
evening, as she lies with her eyes fixed on her daughter's 
face; that un joyous young face, which is bent with untiring 
gentleness over that piece of work of her mother^ s which is 
eternally needing to be set right. 

: ‘‘ Set off?^^ repeats Betty, lifting her head, and looking 
apprehensive and a little guilty. Where to?^^ 

That is what you can tell me better than I can tell 
you/^ replies the mother, dryly, with a faint shade of re- 
sentment still lingering against her will in her tone. Your 
father was anything but explicit; he spoke of ‘ an outing;^ 
that might mean Kamschatka or Kew.^^ 

He — he was talking nonsense!^'' replies Betty, red and 
stammering. 

Ho, he was not,'’^ rejoins the mother, calmly; but I 
was taken so ill— if you remember, it was on the day that 
I was taken so ill — that he had not time to explain. 

This sincere attempt to displace her husband^s unlucky 
suggestion and her own seizure from their natural relation 


BETTY^S VISIONS. 


63 


as cause and effect, an attempt which, as she knows in her 
own heart, takes in neither herself nor her daughter, brings 
a weak pink flush into the sick woman^s cheek. 

He was talking nonsense repeats Betty, murmuring- 
ly; men often do,^^ she adds, with an audacious and illib- 
eral generality. 

What he said was quite true,^^ rejoins Mrs. Brewster, 
reflectively; it is a cruelly dull life for a young thing 
like you.^^ 

‘‘But I am not young cries Betty, eagerly; “I am 
old, old ! If you only knew how old I feel inside. ’ ’ 

“ Well, if you do, I do not!^^ says Mrs. Brewster, with a 
sort of tremulous playfulness. “ To tell you the truth, I 
think we have been mewing ourselves up a great deal too 
much of late; that we should be all the better for having a 
little air from the outer world let in upon us; in short 
(laughing nervously), “ I have half a mind to join in your 
outing myself. 

“ Oh, if you could cries the girl, kneeling down by 
her mother, and laying her head caressingly on the pillow 
beside the invalid; “ but since you can not — 

“Since I can not, interrupts the other with decision, 
“ you must go instead of me, and come back and tell me 
all about it. There, say no more. That is settled. 

And settled, despite Betty^s many tearful and compunc- 
tious remonstrances, it is. The day has come. Betty has, 
as nearly as possible, lost the train through her inability, 
at the last moment, to tear herself away from that shaded 
room and that couch that of late have been all her 
world. 


64 


BETTY'S VISIONS, 


Are you sure that you can do without us? Are you 
sure that you will not miss us?" she reiterates, with her 
eyes full of tears; and half a dozen of Mr. Brewster's im- 
patient Bettys " are turned a deaf ear to by his daughter. 
But at last he gets her away: at last he gets her to the 
station and into the train. She had set off in a most un- 
enjoying mood — apprehensive, half remorseful — but she 
has not gone five miles before nature and youth resume 
their inevitable sway. Did ever express train rush with so 
smooth a speed? and how pleasant once again to see the 
fiying hedges, browsing sheep, smoky towns galloping away 
together. Gallop as they may, they are yet stationary, and 
she is tearing onward. What a feeling of superiority it 
gives one! And then, when London is reached, what can 
be more exhilarating and amusing than the streets? They 
seem to present a broad farce, got up and acted expressly 
for her entertainment. And the real farce to which they 
go in the evening? It is not very funny, but they laugh 
till they cry over it. Their mirth is so uncontrollable, in- 
deed, that one or two persons in the stalls near them turn 
their heads to look in astonishment at them. But then, 
perhaps, these persons laugh every night. Mr. Brewster 
and his daughter are still laughing over the threadbare 
jests in their sitting-room at the hotel on their return. 
They are still laughing when Mr. Brewster leaves the room 
to give some directions to the servant for the next day. 
He is not absent more than ten minutes. On his return, 
he finds Betty standing in the middle of the room. Her 
face is turned toward him, but, as he sees at the first 
glance, it is not the same face as that with which he had 


BETTY^S VISIONS. 


65 


left her. There is no smile upon it^ nor any expression 
of recognition. It wears the look which he has once 
before seen upon it — the sightless stare of a somnambu- 
list. An indefinable terror seizes him as he goes up to 
her. 

‘‘ Yv^hat is the matter with you?^^ he asks, unsteadily. 

Why do you look so odd?^^ 

We must go home,^^ she says, speaking in a mechan- 
ical, immodulated voice, as one in a trance, to whom the 
words are dictated by some resistless alien power. Mother 
is dead! She touched me on the foot as she went 
by.” 

They are nearly the same words as those which Mr. 
Brewster had heard his daughter employ on the occasion of 
her Cousins’s death; but this time he can meet them with 
no derisive incredulity. A sudden trembling has seized 
him, such as had seized upon his sick wife on that fornier 
occasion. 

What do you mean?^^ he asks, almost in a whisper— 

did you — did you see her?^'’ 

She makes no answer; only moves slowly toward the 
door of the adjoining bedroom. 

Betty I cries the father, in an agony of apprehension, 
following her, ^‘you must speak! You have no right to 
say such things! What did you see? In God^’s name tell 
me what did you see?'’^ 

But she is as if she heard him not. Without making 
any answer she passes out of sight. Something tells him 
that it would be vain to make any further appeals to her. 
It is even extremelv doubtful whether she was aware of his 

3 


BETTY S VISIOIsS. 




presence. He throws himself into an arm-chair, and then, 
rising, begins to walk fast and feverishly up and down the 
room, in the vain endeavor to shake oft the panic that is 
mastering him. 

The girl is of an exceptionally nervous organization. 
She has been upset by this sudden change from the long 
gloom of her past life; it is a form of hysteria. 

But even as he says to himself these reassuring phrases, 
a cold reminiscence checks them. He had called her hys- 
terical on the occasion of that former warning. His eyes 
fall accidentally on the clock. The hand points to half 
past twelve. The thought crosses his mind with a sort of 
relief that all the telegraph offices must be shut. The 
only sensible course to pursue is to dismiss the matter as 
quickly as possible from his mind, go to bed and dream, if 
he can compass it, of the farce, whose merriment seems 
now to be parted from him by a chasm. But to go to bed 
is one thing; to go to sleep another. Mr. Brewster finds 
the one as difficult as the other was easy. Season as he 
may with himself, chide, ridicule his own folly, there is not 
one hour of the night or early morning that he does not 
hear told by all the church and hotel clocks. From the 
short, tired doze, into which he falls at last, he is awakened 
by the opening of the door, and springs back to conscious- 
ness with a frightened jump. Pooh! it is only his man 
with his hot water! And so ifc is. But, beside the hot 
water, what is it that his valet is carrying in his hand? Is 
it Jiot an envelope, the first glimpse of whose color turns 
the master sick? In a second he has snatched it, torn it 
open, mastered its short contents, which, after all, he had 


BETTY^S VlSIOi^^S. 


67 


already known. Come home at once. Mrs. Brewster 
died suddenly at twelve last night. 

Mr. Brewster and his daughter have returned to the so 
lately left home. It is the day before the funeral, and 
they are sitting together in that heavy idleness which char- 
acterizes such dread days. It is a dark afternoon, and the 
gloom is so greatly deepened by the lowered blinds that oc- 
cupation would be difficult. They are holding each other^s 
hands, as if that helped them a little. For nearly an hour 
neither has spoken, but suddenly Mr. Brewster breaks the 
leaden silence. ^ 

Betty, he says, in a low voice, how did you know? 
Did you see her? I asked you at the time, but you did not 
answer me. . You did not seem to hear.^^ 

She hears him now at all events, for her hand first trem- 
bles violently in his clasp, and is then withdrawn from it. 
But neither now does she answer. 

‘‘ Tell me,^^ repeats the father with imploring urgency. 

Betty, tell me, did you see her?^^ 

Betty has put up her hand to her forehead, and into her 
face has come an expression of dazed, bewildered misery. 

I donT know,^^ she answers, uncertainly. 

“ You do not know?^" repeats he, with gathering excite- 
ment; ""you must know! Think, cliild, think! You can 
not have forgotten; did you really see her?^^ 

The look of puzzled wretchedness grows intenser. 

"" Oh, do not ask me,^^ she cries, loudly, in a voice of 
acute pain. I would tell you if I could, but — I — I— do 
not know.'’^ 


G8 


betty'^s visioks. 


Her voice dies slowly away at the last word into a wail 
of misery, and oh her forehead the intense look as of one 
agonizing to overtake a gone memory, grows more painful- 
ly evident. It would be inhumanity to urge her further, 
so the problem has to be left as unsolved as ever. 


HER FOURTH VISION. 

Another year has slipped by. Poor Mrs. Brewster's 
sudden death has long been superseded as a topic of con- 
versation in the neighborhood by less threadbare ones. To 
tell the truth, it had never been a subject of universal lam- 
entation. Even into the very earliest expressions of pity 
and regret have crept hopes, that, when the days of mourn- 
ing for the poor lady are ended the house may be once 
more open for social purposes. And now that the year of 
conventional seclusion is running to its last sands, faint 
signs of such an impending reopening are not altogether 
wanting to gladden the hearts of the dancing boys and 
girls in the vicinage. Mr. Brewster is far from being an 
old man. At fifty-five, under healthy conditions, there is 
still a great deal of enjoying power left in a man, and Betty 
is undeniably a young woman. At twenty-two, in fact, she 
is, and looks, a younger woroan than she was and did at 
twenty-one. Betty and her father would account it blas- 
phemy were you to hint such a thing to them, but in point 
of fact they are a great deal happier than they were while 
their suffering Maria yet blessed them with her presence 


BETTY^’S VISIONS. 


69 


and her sofa, sofa had been reverently wheeled into 

a corner^ the rooms are again full of light and air. Mr. 
Brewster need no longer tone down his hearty voice lest it 
should break into some doze, snatched fitfully at unex- 
pected moments of the day. Betty need no longer cut 
short her stroll in the garden, or her rides in the lanes, in 
the fear that a faint, complaining voice may be summon- 
ing her, and she out of hearing. They have both, to do 
them justice, honestly tried to check the first weak germs 
of cheerfulness in themselves and each other, but in vain. 
Little innovations, for which neither knew whom to blame, 
have crept in somehow. The tennis ground, long disused, 
has been new-mown, rolled, and marked out; occasionally, 
a young man or a girl, driving over to call, has lured Betty, 
reluctant at first, half-shocked and yet hankering, into a 
game. Occasionally, too, one such young guest, a man, 
has stayed so late that it would be a breach of the first ele- 
ments of hospitality not to invite him to stay to dinner. 
And somehow, after dinner — if one has a guest, one must 
do what one can to amuse him — all three have strayed 
into the billiard-room, and knocked the balls about till the 
stable clock has tolled midnight. This one guest, after a 
while, becomes singled out from the other chance comers, 
by the frequency and regularity of his appearances. With- 
out any but a tacit invitation, he has fallen into the habit 
of coming, first on all Mondays; next on all Mondays and 
Fridays; then on all Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays; 
by and by he occasionally throws in a Sunday, too; and 
sometimes a Saturday, if he has anything particular to say. 
Perhaps, being a moderately well-to-do-squire, with aq 


70 


Betty's visioks. 


agent whom he has no reason for distrusting, and a house 
which, though of comfortable dimensions for two, is over- 
roomy for one, he is thankful to find a complaisant small 
family on whom he can bestow his too abundant leisure. 
It is a Thursday evening, and Mr. Brewster and his daugh- 
ter are sitting tete-a-tUe after dinner; he turning over the 
sheets of the just-arrived Globe, she placidly stitching 
opposite him, when a ring at the hall-door bell is heard 
through the house. Rings at the front door are, in the 
depth of the country^ not common occurrences at nine 
o'clock in the evening, and are wont to excite surprise if 
not alarm. Such, however, is not the emotion provoked 
in the master of the house on this occasion. He looks over 
the top of his Globe " at his daughter, who shows no 
great eagerness to meet his eye, and says, lifting his brows, 
with an expression half reproachful, half humorous. 

Again, Betty? Why, I thought this was our free day, 
did not you r'^ 

‘^Free day!'^ repeats Betty, stammering. Free from 
what? I — I — don't know what you mean!'^ 

I am sure you do not; of course not; you can not give 
a guess," replies her father, dryly. 

There is a smile on his lips, but his eyes are vexed. He 
has just begun to enjoy his life again, good, easy man, and 
in that enjoyment Betty's presence is a main factor. She 
hears, and is stung by the annoyance in his tone. Run- 
ning impulsively over to him, she sits down on the fioor at 
his knee. 

Do you think he comes too often?" she asks, trem- 
bling. Do you mind?" 


BETTY^S VISIOKS. 


71 


It is to be hoped for my sake that I ao not/’ rejoins 
he, still more dryly than before; then, lifting by force the 
girFs face, which she has buried on the arm of his chair. 
Why, Betty, you are as red as a turkey cock. You 
traitor, you knew he was coming. Might I ask — with an 
ungovernable intonation of bitterness and alarm — whether 
he has anything particular to say?^^ 

Steps are heard in the hall. The servants, who have not 
hurried themselves, are going to the door. She must make 
haste to answer. 

Do you mind?^^ she repeats, agitatedly. If you do, 
he shall go away; he shall say nothing.-’^ 

For a moment Mr. Brewster struggles, and it would be, 
perhaps, rash to say that no malediction against his future 
son-in-law formulates itself in his heart. Then, his natural 
unselfishness, which was kept in high training through 
many years by his sainted Maria, conquers, and he says 
cheerfully, Mind? A^hy should I mind? Do you think 
that I want to have a cranky old maid on my hands 
Then, as the door opens and the guest is announced, How 
are you, Carrington? Very glad to see you. 

Two months later Carrington and Betty are made one. 
Mr. Brewster has been the life of the wedding party, has 
made a better speech and more jokes, and has thrown more 
shoes and rice than any other member of the company. 
When the last guest has gone he shuts himself into his 
study and cries like a child. Then he has his portmanteau 
packed, and takes the night mail for London and Paris. 
His empty house, void now both of his poor, peevish Maria 
and his consoling Betty, is more than he can bear. He is 


72 


Betty’s vibtons. 


absent above a year, his travels being extended beyond the 
familiar bounds of Europe to China and Japan. What is 
there to bring him back? But at the end of the year there 
is something. Does not obligation lie upon him to go 
home and see Betty’s baby? The thought of Betty with a 
baby makes him laugh, albeit tenderly. And then, at the 
close of a long summer day’s traveling, comes the reunion 
with Betty herself. Betty, who can not hang long enough 
about his neck, or reproach him fondly enough with his 
protracted absence, or tell him often enough how she has 
wearied for a sight of his face. And yet, he thinks to 
himself, with a sort of semi-bitterness, ‘‘ Can any one so 
blooming have wearied much really?” 

His Betty was a pale, shut bud, this Betty is an expand- 
ed flower, that has opened its petals wide to the sun of 
happiness — that sun which he had never been able to make 
shine upon her. But, in time, honestly struggled against, 
this bitterness goes. His daughter’s unfeigned delight in 
his company, the ruthless way in which she makes every 
one’s convenience — even adored husband’s and worshiped 
baby’s — courtesy to his, could not fail to soothe a self-love 
more susceptible than Mr. Brewster’s. His visit prolongs 
itself from days to weeks, from weeks to months. His 
daughter is always pressing upon him her loving impor- 
tunities that he should live with them. Why should you 
ever go?” she asks, for the hundredth time, on the evening 
preceding the day he has at length finally fixed upon for 
his departure. ^^Jack says he does not know what he 
shall do without you.” 

Perhaps time and the consolations of religion may 


BETTY^'S VISIONS. 


73 


reconcile him to the blow/^ replies Mr. Brewster, with a 
little mild satire. 

He says he can not account for my not being nicer 
than I am, having such a father/" pursues Betty, whee- 
dlingly; come, you have not answered me; why should 
not you stay with us always?"" 

I must not make myself too common, Betty,"" says he, 
jestingly; if I lived with you, you could not make such a 
fuss with me as you have been doing for the last three 
months. I like to be made a fuss with. "" 

And this is all the answer she gets out of him, and so 
she has to let him go, but not without plenteous tears and 
strenuous adjurations to return, before the month is out, 
for good. He has now been gone a week. For the first 
day or two after losing him, his daughter"s spirits drooped 
extremely; but before long, her youth, the happy con- 
ditions of her life, her husband "s good humor, and the 
baby"s allurements restore her equanimity. It is an 
August evening, hot and fair, and Betty has stepped out 
of the dining-room window, according to her wont on such 
evenings, to bid the sleepy flowers good-night, and hail the 
moon, the great, red, harvest moon wheeling up above the 
beech-wood, and waited on by her silver handmaid stars. 
Mr. Carrington remains at the dining-table, sipping his 
claret, and looking out contentedly at the flitting white fig- 
ure that now and then stops to throw in an affectionate 
glance at him, and an enthusiastic ejaculation as to the 
lovelin^s of the night, to which latter he responds with all 
a Briton"s uiiexpansive brevity. For a moment or two the 
figure has disappeared — gone, no doubt, to visit its Night 


74 


Betty's visioks. 


Stocks^ and Mr. Carrington has fallen into a placid reverie 
on beeves and farming implements, when he is startled by 
the sound of a sharp cry from the direction of the garden. 
To jump up and fly through the window is with him the 
work of a moment. He has, after all, not far to go. At 
a hundred paces from him on the terrace, he sees his wife 
standing, and, as he nears her, perceives that she is gazing 
before her in a blank, unseeing w^ay. Surprised and fright- 
ened, he takes her by the arm, crying, What is it?" 

Father is dead," she says, in a voice of acute agony; 
not as if answering him, nor even being aware of his pres- 
ence. I know it; he touched me on the head as he went 
by." 

Betty," cries the young man, puzzled and frightened, 
what is the matter? What are you talking about?" 

He knows nothing of her visions. It is not a subject, 
which, since her father's last appeal to her for explanation, 
on the occasion of her mother's death, has been mentioned 
between him and her. Much less has any breath of them 
ever reached an outsider. She does not answer. She only 
gazes stonily straight before her in the moonlight A cold 
terror seizes on Carrington. Has she gone mad? In an 
instant the thought has flashed through his mind. Is 
there madness in her family? Can he ever formerly have 
heard a whisper of, and forgotten it? If not, is this the 
beginning of some frightful illness, some hideous catalepsy? 
He catches her hand. It is cold and rigid. 

Betty! Betty! why do you frighten me so? What is 
it? For God's sake, speak!" 

But she turns uway from him, and begins to walk 


SETTY^S VISIONS. 


75 


dumbly toward the house. He overtakes her, and now, 
thoroughly alarmed, catches her in his arms, Betty, what 
have I done to you.^ Will not you speak to me? You 
must speak. 

Still she is silent, nor can any adjuration, however 
solemn, or entreaty, however tender, succeed in drawing 
one further word from her. Before he knows it she has 
slipped out of his arms and made her way in-doors. Mr. 
Carrington passes a dreadful night, entirely sleepless, and 
crowded with hideous fears. Before his eyes, whether shut 
or open, the specter madness does not cease to dance. On 
what other hypothesis can he explain his wife^s sudden 
seizure? Is it the first of the kind, or has she previouslv 
been subject to such? This is one of the problems that 
torment him, and that he has no means of solving. There 
is no old nurse or other faithful family servant, whom he 
can consult upon the point. His wife^s maid came to her 
only at her marriage. He has not had the heart to go to 
bed, but has seen from his dressing-room window, with the 
tired eyes of one that has all night watched, the stars go 
out, and the new day that in August still comes early, un- 
folding one after another and putting on its manj-colored 
robes of splendor. Will this day solve his riddle for him? 
His head aches, and his eyeballs bum. Perhaps the morn- 
ing wind may make him feel less stupefied. Having list- 
ened at Betty door and heard no sound — perhaps she may 
be in a wholesome sleep, from which she may wake cured 
and sane — he goes down -stairs and out-of-doors. As he is 
walking toward the stable, drawing in long breaths of the 
exquisite summer air, he sees a telegraph boy approaching 


BETTY'S VISIOKS. 


76 

him. For mer^^ he asks^ indifferently, as the messenger 
holds out his missive to him, and so absently opens it, his 
thoughts full of his own trouble — so full that for the first 
moment they do not grasp the meaning of the words pre- 
sented to his eye: Mr. Brewster seized with apoplexy last 
night at nine o^clock; dead in ten minutes; com.e or send 
directions. For a moment, he reels as if he were drunk, 
Betty^s words rushing back in ghastly letters of fire before 
his mind^s eye. She knew it at the very time it had hap- 
pened! Great God! how did she know it? 


HER FIFTH AND LAST VISION. 

It was no great wonder that after such a shock Betty 
falls dangerously ill. For weeks she lies between life and 
death, and months elapse before she is restored to her 
former strength. Her husband nurses her with devoted 
and untiring tenderness; sits by her through long night 
after long night, listening to her wanderings— (for she is 
often delirious) — wanderings about the long-departed play- 
fellow of her childhood, Rachel; about dear, dead dogs and 
birds; about her sick mother; nay, most of all, about her 
father too. And yet, listen as closely as he may, not once 
does he catch any least word as to the mysterious seizure 
and the unexplained forewarning which had preceded that 
father ^s death. Not even in highest delirium, when the 
bonds of reason are loosened, and the thoughts and feelings 
deepest buried come to the surface, does she make any 
most distant allusion to it. It must be gone from her 


BETTY ""S VISIONS. 


77 


mind as completely as if it had never found a resting-place 
there. After a long time she creeps slowly back to con- 
valescence, an uncertain, precarious convalescence, at first, 
but which gradually gains in solidity and dependableness 
as the languid days go by. Days passed in lying for the 
most part, silent and pale in her great arm-chair, pressing 
occasionally her husband^s hand, as he sits fondly at her 
feet, or stroking his hair, and occasionally breaking into 
faint smiles at the antics of the baby, who has taken the 
opportunity of her mother^ s illness to double herself in size, 
and has adopted a mode of progressing along the floor ^ 
from chair leg to chair leg, which Betty, not having much 
acquaintance with other babies, thinks original, and ad- 
mires with proportionate ecstasy. After awhile, the hand 
that had feebly patted Carrington^s head rests on his arm, 
as he leads her, warmly wrapped up, to the nearest of her 
garden haunts. The first day she does not get further 
than the terrace. The last time that she had visited it, 
was the evening on which he had found her cold and struck 
in the moonlight. His memcuy is full of this circum- 
stance, as he leads her slowly along; but it seems to have 
no place in hers. Perhaps it is the entirely changed aspect 
of the. scene, from summer moonlight to winter sunshine 
that keeps recollection at bay. She makes little, interested 
comments upon the rimy grass, the frost-bound flower 
borders, upon the removal of some remembered shrub, but 
no ripple seems to stir the waters of any deeper memory. 

Seeing her so insensible, he can not resist experimentaliz- 
ing upon her, so far as to pause at the exact spot upon 
which, on that fatal night, he had found her standing. 


78 


BETTY^S YISIOKS. 


But she only looks up at him, smiling out of her furs, her 
thin face a little tinted by the sharp wind, and asks: 

'' What are you stopping for? You need not think that 
I am tired yet/^ He looks earnestly into her eyes, but 
they are obviously entirely unconscious, as is the brain be- 
hind them, of the remembrances of which his are full. It 
is clear that he must defer any probing of memory until 
she is fully restored to health. And when at length — it is 
indeed at length — this comes to pass, his mind has taken 
such a habit of anxiety for his fragile treasure, that he 
shrinks from imperiling the hardly won good by presenting 
to her mind any images but those that are smiling and 
cheerful. From day to day he defers the putting of that 
question which is so often at the end of his tongue, and so 
it comes to pass that it is never asked at all. Time, as he 
goes by, brings many good things to the Carringtons, and 
so far — and now the baby is three years old — no bad ones. 
If there are any drawbacks to the fact of possessing an only 
child, even they will shortly be removed, for Betty hopes, 
ere long, to embrace a son.^ She is looking forward with 
strong longings, and without any fear, to the expected 
blessing. ; 

No dreams or visions, or eerie warnings of any kind have 
disturbed her placid prosperity. The season is as prosper- 
ous as she, and now, in late June, the farmers are garner- 
ing their heavy hay crops without a drop of rain, and life 
is one long fragrant feast with the strawberry beds for 
board. Mr. Carrington has set off upon a long day^s trout 
fishing — an elastic sort of little excursion, which may end 
to-night, may be prolonged till to-morrow. 


BETTY VISIONS. 


79 


‘‘ Do not hurry back/" says Betty, bidding her husband 
good-bye; enjoy yourself, old man! I am only afraid"" 
— glancing from the absolutely unclouded sky to the rather 
parched grass— that you will find the river a little low."" 
And so, in the early morning, she waves him a smiling 
farewell, leaning in her cool white gown against the porch, 
and crying cheerfully, Bring me home plenty of trout!"" 

The day turns out a very hot one, but what matter to 
one who can sit under a great ^eech"s shade all day, with a 
cabbage leaf full of strawberries beside her, and engaged 
in no severer exertion than to watch little Betty tumbling 
in the hay, and occasionally set- her dislocated hat straight 
again upon her yellow curls. There seems a slight want 
of imagination in having christened the child Betty, too, 
and so the elder Betty pointed out to her husband. 

‘‘ Will not it make a great confusion having twoBettys?"" 
she asked. But he, in all the hot and foolish ardor of 
young husbandhood, asseverates that there can not be too 
much of a good thing; there can not be too many Bettys. 
She lifts her eyebrows with a languid smile. 

Then if we have six daughters they will all be Bettys!"" 
But this extravagant supposition he refuses to face. And 
now little Betty"s bed-time has come. It is hard work to 
tear her away, kicking and screaming, from the sympa- 
thetic hay-makers. It is hard work to get her into her 
bath, and it is harder still to get her out again. Far and 
wide the water splashes, and the soap-suds fiy under the 
excited plunges of her fat legs. The delights of the day 
have almost turned her little brain. Laughing, crying, 
wildly hilarious; finally, very tired and outrageously cross. 


80 


BETTY'S YISIO^S. 


she is at length laid in bed, and almost before her naughty 
gold head has touched the pillow, is asleep. 

Fast as a rock," says the nurse, bending admiringly 
over her. So fast that neither nurse nor mother need lower 
their voices as they discuss with the grave interest that 
befits so momentous a theme, what frock little Betty is to 
wear at a strawberry-eating and hay-making party in the 
neighborhood to which she is to be taken on the morrow. 

Of course, she looks best in white," says the nurse, 
thoughtfully reviewing the little garments spread out for 
inspection; it shows up her skin best. I never saw such 
a skin, if you will believe me, ma'am. I really can not 
tell sometimes where the child's frock ends and her neck 
begins. " 

She is as fair as a lily," assents the mother, proudly. 

‘^She has got shockingly tanned to-day," pursues the 
nurse, regretfully. I could not get her to keep her hat 
on. As fast as I put it on she tore it off again. She was 
like a mad thing, and I did want her to look her best to- 
morrow. " 

But she will," rejoins the mother, fondly. She is a 
most satisfactory child; she always looks her best when one 
wants her. Bring out some more of her frocks. I do not 
quite like any of these." 

The nurse complies, and walking to a high press, sacred 
to little Betty's voluminous wardrobe, begins to pull out 
drawers and choose the daintiest of the many little changes 
of raiment lying there in lavender. Her mistress does not 
interrupt her by any comment or suggestion. When her 
selection is at length made, the nurse returns toward her 


Betty’s vjsioks. 


81 


mistress with a heap of little clothes thrown over her arm. 
She is so occupied in turning them over, that she does not 
look up until she is quite close to Mrs. Carrington, when, 
lifting her eyes, she becomes aware that the latter, with an 
ash-white face and a terrible blank look, is putting up both 
her hands, as if keeping off from herself something un- 
speakably feared and terrible. 

‘‘I must die to-morrow!’’ she says, in a voice so 
changed, so full of awe and' horror, as to be almost un- 
recognizable. I know. It touched me on the heart as it 
went by. ” 

Good God, ma’am, what is the matter? What ails 
you? What touched you?” shrieks the nurse, beside her- 
self with vague fear. 

But her mistress makes no answer, and only falls from 
her chair on the floor in a dead, dead swoon. 

^ ^ ^ * * 

The river has not been so low as Mr. Carrington feared, 
the sky too has clouded over opportunely, and he has had 
better sport than he hoped for. He has Ashed on and on 
and on; down and down the river, until it was too late to 
return home that night; so he puts up at a little river-side 
ale-house, well known to him of old; dines hungrily on 
some of his own trout, and, sleeping sweetly, dreams of 
May-flies and ginger hackles. All next day he Ashes again; 
and it is not till evening that he at length sees his own 
house rise before him against the rose-red sunset. He has 
walked from the station. Since he had not sent word at 
what hour he was to be expected, no vehicle awaits him. 
But the distance is short, and he enjoys the walk, with the 


82 


BETTY^'S YISIOKS. 


prospect of Betty^'s smile and some more trout at the end 
of it. How early they have shut up the house/ ^ he says 
to himself as he comes within sight of the building, and 
becomes aware that all the blinds are drawn down. What 
is the meaning of that, I wonder?’" A little puzzled, but 
not alarmed, he walks iii, and, entering the house by the 
garden-door, looks into his wife"s boudoir. She is not 
there. Into the drawing-room, she is not there; the library, 
not there; the smoking-room, not there. He passes out 
upon the terrace and calls Betty, Betty,"" but there is no 
answer. Pooh! how stupid; of course she has gone up 
to dress for dinner."" He runs lightly upstairs and turns 
the handle of his wife"s bedroom door. It is locked. What 
does this mean? He calls Betty, Betty, open the door."" 
But she does not answer. The idea strikes him that he 
can enter by his dressing-room. Yes, its door is not 
locked. In one moment he has passed through it and is in 
the bedroom. Why are his legs beginning to shake under 
him? The light is dim, the blinds pulled down to the bot- 
tom, and no candles lighted. Betty can not be here; surely 
she is not here. Involuntarily his eye falls on the bed. 
What is this 9 There is a great white sheet drawn over it, 
and beneath that sheet an outline. In a second (how he 
gets there he never knows) he is at the bedside, the sheet is 
turned down, and he has learned what lies beneath it. His 
Betty dead and rigid, with a dead baby beside her! For it, 
whatever the mysterious messenger was, has kept its word. 


THE END, 


ADfEETISEMEKTS. 


THE BEST 



WasMnj CrapoMi 

EVER INVENTED. 

Ifo Lady, Married or Sin- 
gle, Rich or Poor, House- 
keeping or Boarding, will 
be without it after testing 
its utility. 

Sold by all first-class 
Grocers, but beware of 
worthless imitations. 


I=>ia:"2"SZO I 

GLUTEN- SUPPOSITORIES 

CURE CONSTIPATION ANI> PIUES. 

50 Cents by Mail. Circulars Free. 

HEALTH FOOD CO., 

4tli Avenue and lOtli St., W. Y. 


CANDY 

CANDY 


Send $1, $2, $3 or $5 for a sample retail box bv 
Express, of 


THE BEST CANDIES IN AMERICA, 

put up in eleg^ant boxes, and strictly pure. Suit- 
able for presents. Express charges light. Refer 
to all Chicago. Try it once. 

If preferred, fine candy at 25c., 40c., and GOc. 
per pound; the best in the land for the 
money. Address 

C. F. OIJY rHKlt, 

Confectioner, 

CHICAGO. 


w IS StPOLIO? 

equal for all cleaning purpos . . - 

What will Sapolio do? W1 


)Oses except the laundry, 
will clean paint. 


It is a solid, 
handsome cake 
of scouring soap, 
which has no 
„ To use it is to value it. 

^ , , ^hy, it will clean paint, make oil-cloths bright, and 

give the floors, tables and shelves a new appearance. 

It will take the grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. 

You can scour the knives and forks with it, and make the tin things shine 
brightly, ihe wash-basin, the bath-tub. even the greasy kitchen sink, will 
be as clean as a new pin if you use SAPOLIO. One cake will prove all 
we say. Be a clever little housekeeper and try it. 

BEWARE OF IMITATIONS. 


MUNRO'S publications. 

f he Seaside Library-Pocket Edition. 


Persons who wish to purchase the following works in complete and un- 
abridged form are cautioned to order and see that they get The Seaside 
Library, Pocket Edition, as works published in other Libraries are fre- 
quently abridged and incomplete. Every number of The Seaside Library 
is unchanged and unabridged. 

Newsdealers wishing Catalogues of The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
bearing their imprint, will be supplied on sending their names, addresses, 
and number required. 

The works in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, are printed from 
larger type and on better paper than any other series published. 

The following works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to 
any address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, lUunro’s Fiiblishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


NUMERiCAL LIST. 


NO. PRICK. 

1 Yolande. By William Black — 20 

2 Molly Bawn. By “The Duch- 

ess “...... ... 20 

3 The Mill on the Floss. By George 

Eliot 20 

4 Under Two Flags. By “ Ouida ” 20 

5 The Admiral’s Ward. By Mrs. 

Alexander 20 

6 Portia. By “ The Duchess’’ 20 

7 File No. 113. By Emile Gabo- 

riau.. 20 

8 East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 20 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras. 

By “Ouida” 20 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop. By 

Charles Dickens 20 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. By 

Miss Mulock 20 

12 Other People’s Money. By Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal. By Helen B. 

TVT 10 

14 Airy Fairy iiiiian. By “The Duch- 

ess ” 10 

15 Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Brontd 20 

16 Phyllis. By “ The Duchess ”.. . 20 

17 The Wooing O’t. By Mrs. Alex- 

ander 20 

18 Shandon Bells. By William 

Black 20 

19 Her Mother’s Sin. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

21 Sunrise : A Story of These Times. 

By William Black 20 

22 David Copperfield. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. 1 20 

22 David Copperfield. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

23 A Princess of Thule. By William 

Black 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. 1 20 


NO. PRICE. 

24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

25 Mrs. Geoff re 3 \ By “ The Duch- 

ess” 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile Ga- 

boriau. Vol. 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile Ga- 

boriau. Vol. 11 20 

27 Vanity Fair. By William M. 

n’VifloirAT'O'v on 

28 Ivan hoe. By Sir Walter Scott, 

Bart 20 

29 Beauty’s Daughters. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

30 Faith and Unfaith. By “ The 

Duchess” 20 

31 Middlemarch. By George Ehot. 

First half 20 

31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot. 

Second half 20 

32 The Land Leaguers. By Anthony 

Trollope 20 

33 The Clique of Gold. By Emile 

Gaboriau 10 

34 Daniel Deronda. By George 

Eliot. First half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. By George 

Eliot. Second half 20 

35 Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

36 Adam Bede. By George Eliot . . 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

38 The Widow Lerouge. By Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

39 In Silk Attire. By William 

Black 20 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii. By 

Bulwer Lytton 20 

41 Oliver Twist. Charles Dickens. 20 

42 Romola. By George Eliot 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival. Bj^ 

Emile Gaboriau 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY -Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICK. 

44 Macleod of Dare. By William 

Black 20 

45 A Little Pilgrim. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 10 

46 Very Hard Cash. By Charles 

Reade 20 

47 Altiora Peto. By Laurence Oli- 

phant 20 

48 Thicker Than Water. By James 

Payn 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. By 

William Black 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton. By William Black. 20 

51 Dora Thorne. By the author of 

“ Her Mother’s Sin ” 20 

52 The New Magdalen. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 


63 The Story of Ida. By Francesca 10 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring. By 

the author of “ Dora Thome ” 20 

55 The Three Guardsmen. By 


Alexander Dumas '20 

66 Phantom Fortune. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

57 Shirley. By Charlotte Brontd. . 20 

58 By the Gate of the Sea. By D. 

Christie Murray 10 

59 Vice Versa. By F. Anstey 20 

60 The Last of the Mohicans. By 

J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

61 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. 

Rowson 10 

62 The Executor. By Mrs. Alex- 

ander 20 

63 The Spy. By J. Fenimore Coop- 

er 20 

64 A Maiden Fair. By Charles 

Gibbon 10 

65 Back to the Old Home. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 10 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young 

Man. By Octave Feuillet 10 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more. 1st and 2d half, each 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 

mance. By William Black. .. 10 

71 A Struggle for Fame. By Mrs. 

J. H. Riddell 20 

72 Old Mj'ddelton’s Money. By 

Marj' Cecil Hay 20 

73 Redeemed by Love. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 

74 Aurora Floyd. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

75 Twenty Years After. By Alex- 

ander Dumas 20 

76 Wife in Name Only. By the 

author of ” Dora Thorne ”... 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities. By Chas. 

Dickens 20 

78 Madcap Violet. By Wm. Black 20 

79 Wedded and Parted. By the 

author of ” Dora Thorne ”... 10 




NO. PRICK. 

80 June. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

81 A Daughter of Heth. By Wm. 

Black 20 

82 Sealed Lips. By Fortun6 Du 

Boisgobey 20 

83 A Strange Story. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Ly tton 20 

84 Hard Times. By Charles Dick- 

ens 10 

85 A Sea Queen. By W. Clark 

Russell 20 

86 Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 20 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen. Bj^ Jules Verne 20 

88 The Privateersman. By Cap- 

tain Marryat 20 

89 The Red Eric. By R. M. Ballan- 

tyne 10 

90 Ernest Maltravers. By Sir E. 

Bulwer Lytton 20 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens. 1st and 2d half, each 20 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice. By the 

author of ‘‘ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiogra- 

phy 20 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 

ens. First half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 

ens. Second half 20 

95 The Fire Brigade. By R. M. 

Ballantyne 1$ 

96 Erling the Bold. By R. M. Bal- 

lantyne 10 

97 All in a Garden Fair. By Walter 

Besant 20 

98 A Woman-Hater. By Charles 

Reade 20 

99 Barbara’s History. By Amelia 

B. Edwards 20 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 

By Jules Verne 20 

101 Second Thoughts. B3^ Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

102 The Moonstone. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 


103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell 10 

104 The Coral Pin. By F. Du Bois- 

gobey 1st & 2d half, each 20 

105 A Noble Wife. By John Saun- 

ders 20 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 

ens. First half 20 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 

ens. Second half 20 

107 Dombey and Son. By Charles 

Dickens. Isfand 2d half , each 20 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and 

Doctor Marigold. By Charles 
Dickens 10 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Rus- 

sell 20 

110 Under the Red Flag. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 10 

111 The Little School-master Mark. 

By J. H. Shorthouse 10 

112 The Waters of Marah. By John 

Hill 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion. By M. 

G. Wig:htwick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. 

C J. Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

Adolphus Trollone 10 

116 Moths. By“Ouida” 20 

tl7 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 

By W. H. G. Kingston 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford. and Eric 

Dering. By “ The Duchess ” . 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

By “ The Duchess ” 10 

120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

Rugby. By Thomas Hughes 2) 

121 Maid of Athens. By Justin Mc- 

Carthy 20 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 20 

123 Sweet is True Love. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

124 Three Feathers. By William 

Black 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 

By William Black 20 

126 Kilmeny. By William Black. . . 20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches. 

By “Ouida” 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “ The Duch- 

ess ” 10 

130 The Last of the Barons. Bulwer 

Lytton. 1st and 2d half, each 20 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

„ Dickens. 1st and 2d half, each 20 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

138 Peter the Whaler. By W. H. G. 
Kingston 10 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other 

Stories. By “The Duchess ’ 10 

135 A Great Heiress. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 10 

136 “ That Last Rehearsal,” and 

Other Stories. “The Duchess” 10 

137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

By William Black 20 

139 The Romantic Adventures of a 

Milkmaid. B.y Thomas Hardy 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune. By Walter 

Besant 10 

141 She Loved Him! By Annie 

Thomas 10 

142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas 20 

143 One False, Both Fair. J. B. 

Harwood 20 

144 Promises of Marriage. By 

Emile Gaboriau 10 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man. By Robert Buchanan.. 20 

146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 

Stories. By Besant and Rice. 10 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trol- 

lope 20 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 


NO. PRICE. 

149 The Captain's Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. 

Speight 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. By C. 

Blather wick lO 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

153 The Golden Calf. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Bu- 

chanan 20 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

156 “ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

157 Milly’s Hero. By F. W. Robin- 

son 20 

158 The Starling. By Norman Mac- 

leod, D.D 10 

159 A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories. By Florence 
Marry at lo 

160 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 

Tytler lo 

161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 
Lord Lytton 10 

162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Lytton 20 

163 Winifred Power. By Joyce Dar- 

rell 20 

164 Leila ; or. The Siege of Grenada. 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 10 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. 

By William MakepeacejThack- 
eray 20 , 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. By / 

“ The Duchess ” 10 

167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Charles 

Dickens and Wilkie Collins. . . 10 

169 The Haunted Man. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

170 A Great Treason. By Mary 

Hoppus 30 

171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” lO 

172 “ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 

173 The Foreigners. By Eleanor C. 

Price 20 

174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge.. 20 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and Other 

Stories. By Wilkie Collins. .. 10 

176 An April Day. By Philippa P. 

Jephson lO 

177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs.Oliphant 20 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 

of a Life in the Highlands. By 
Queen Victoria 10 

179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 10 

180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. 

Clark Russell 10 

181 The New Abelard. By Robert 

Buchanan 10 

182 The Millionaire. A Novel SO 




THE SEASIDE LIBRARY- Pocket Edition. 


\ 


NO. PRICE. 


183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 

ri^. By Florence Marryat. . . 10 

184 Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris. 20 

185 Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 

jendie 10 

186 The Canon’s Ward. By James 

Payn.w . 20 

187 The Midnight Sun. ByFredrika 

Bremer 10 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate. Mrs. Alexander 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles * 

Lever 20 

192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

Warden 10 

193 The Rosary Folk. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far !” By 

Alison 10 

195 “ The Way of the World.” By 

David Christie Murray 20 

196 Hidden Perils. By 'M.avy Cecil 

Hay 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

199 The Fisher Village. By Anne 

Beale 10 

200 An Old Man’s Love. By An- 

thony Trollope 10 

201 The Monastery. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

202 The Abbot. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O’Rell 10 

204 Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

205 The Minister’s Wife. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 30 

206 The Picture, and Jack of All 

Trades. By Charles Reade . . 10 

207 Pretty Miss i^eville. By B. BI. 

/’’I 1 ^ /-fc 


208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 10 

210 Readiana; Comments on Cur- 

rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10 

211 The Octoroon. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 10 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 

goon. By Charles Lever. 
First and Second half, each. . 20 

213 A Terrible Temptation. Chas. 

Reade 20 

214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 

Charles Reade 20 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 20 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 20 

217 The Man She Cared For. By 

F. W. Robinson 20 

218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 20 

219 Lady Clare ; or. The Master of 

the Forges. By Georges Ohnet 10 


NO. PRICE. 

220 Which Loved Him Best? By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

221 Cornin’ *Thro’ the Rye. By 

Helen B. Mathers 20 

222 The Sun-Maid. By Miss Grant 20 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart. By VV. 

Clark Russell 20 

224 The Arundel Blotto. Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

225 The Giant’s Robe. By F. Anstey 20 

226 Friendship. By “ Ouida ” 20 

227 Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton. 20 

228 Princess Napraxine. By “ Oui- 

- da” 20 

229 Blaid, Wife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

230 Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

Besant 20 

231 Griffith Gaunt. Charles Reade 20 

232 Love and Bloney; or, A Perilous 

Secret. By Charles Reade. . . lO 

233 “ I Say No or, the Love-Letter 

Answered. Wilkie Collins. ... 20 

234 Barbara; or. Splendid Blisery. 

Bliss BI. E. Braddon 20 

235 “It is Never Too Late to 

Mend.” Bv Charles Reade. . . 20 

236 Which Shall It Be? Mrs. Alex- 

ander 20 

237 Repented at Leisure. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 

238 Pascarel. By “ Ouida ” 20 

239 Signa. By “Ouida ” 20 

240 Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother. By 

L. B. Walford 10 

242 The Two Orphans. ByD’Ennery 10 

243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Second 

half. By Charles Lever. ..... 20 

244 A Great Blistake. By the author 

of “Cherry” 20 

245 Bliss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat. By Bliss Mulock 10 

246 A Fatal Dower. By the author 

of “His Wedded Wife” 10 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

248 The House on the Marsh. F. 

Warden 10 


249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

By author of “ Dora Th#rne ” 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline. By the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 

Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
way, author of “Called Back” 10 

252 A Sinless Secret. By “ Rita”. . 10 

253 The Amazon. By Carl Vosmaer 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair but 

False. By the author of 


“Dora Thorne” 10 

255 The Blystery. By BIrs. Henry 

Wood 20 

2,56 BIr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

By L. B. Walford 20 


5 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.^ — Pocket Edition 


NO. PRICE. 

‘.J57 Bey©nd Recall. By Adeline Ser- 
geant 10 

258 Cousins. By L. B. Walford. . . . 20, 

259 The Bride of Monte-Oristo. (A 

Sequel to “ The Count of 
Monce-Cristo.” By Alexander 
Dumas 10 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 A Fair Maid. By F. W. Robinson 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part I By Alexander Dumas 20 

262 The Count of Monte Cristo. 

Part II. By Alexander Dumas 20 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. • 

Braddon 20 

264 Piddouche, A French Detective. 

By Fortune Du Boisgobey 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures. 

By William Black 20 

266 The Water-Babies. A Fairy Tale 

for a Land-Baby. By the Rev. 
Charles Kingsley 10 

267 Laurel Vane; or. The Girls’ 

Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; oi% The 

Miser’s Treasure. By Mrs. 
Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

270 The Wandering Jew., Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Mysteries of Pai-is. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

272 The Little Savage. By Captain 

Marry at . . 10 

273 Love and Mirage ; or, The Wait- 

ing on an Island. By M. 
Betham- Edwards 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland Biogmphical Sketch 
and Letters 10 

275 The Three Brides. Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

W6 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 
Florence Marryat (Mrs. Fran- 
cis Lean) 10 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 
Mrs. Henry Wood. A l\lan of 


His Word. By W. E. I\^orris. 10 

278 For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 

279 Little Goldie. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 

den 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 10 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

282 Donal Grant. By George Mac- 

Donald 20 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 
884 Doris. By ” The Duchess ” .. 10 


( 5 ) 


NO. PRICE. 

285 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

286 Deldee; or. The Iron Hand. By 

F. Warden 20 

287 At War With HerselL By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunliglit. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 

True Light. By a “Brutal 
Saxon ” 10 

290 Nora’s Love Test. ByMaryC)ecil 

Hay 20 

291 Love’s Warfare. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

292 A Golden Heart. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”.. . lu 

294 Hilda. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

295 A Woman’s War. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “Dora Thorne” 10 

297 Her Marriage Vow ; or, Hilary’s 

Folly. Charlotte M. Braeme 10 

298 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 

ret Veley 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea. By the author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

301 Dark Days. By Hugh Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

Hugh Conway 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By the author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream. By the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

Day. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

310 The Prairie. J.Fenimore Cooper 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

312 A Week in Killarney; or. Her 

Week’s Amusement. By v 
“ The Duchess ” 10 

313 The Lover’s Creed. By Mi s. 

Cashel Hoey 20 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

316 Sworn to Silence ; or. Aline Rod- 

ney’s Secret. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


20 

20 


20 

20 

20 


NO. PRICE. NO. 

317 By Mead and Stream. Charles 349 

Gibbon 20 

318 The Pioneers; or, The Sources 

of the Susquehanna. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10 

320 A Bit of Human Nature. By 

David Christie Murray 10 

321 The Prodigals : And Their In- 

heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

323 A Willful Maid 20 

324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

325 The Portent. By George Mac- 

donald 10 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. By 
George Macdonald 10 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 

the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. First half. 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. Second half 20 

329 The Polish Jew. ByErckmann- 

Chatrian 10 

380 May Blossom ; or. Between Two 
Loves. By Margaret Lee 

331 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price.. 

332 Judith Wynne. A Novel 

333 Frank Fairlegh ; or, Scenes 

from the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. By 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The White Witch. A Novel. ... 20 

886 Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 

Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
Including Some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 
Mrs. Oliphant 20 

338 The Family Difficulty. By Sarah 

Doudney ’ 10 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander 10 

340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

ton Reade 20 

341 Madolin Rivers ; or. The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s 

Eve. By “ The Duchess ” 

813 The Talk of the Town. By 
James Payn 

344 “ The Wearing of the Green.” 

By Basil 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant 

346 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir 10 

B47 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 


20 

10 

20 

20 

20 


350 

351 

352 

353 


354 


355 


356 

357 

358 

359 

360 

361 

362 

363 

364 

365 


366 


367 

368 

369 

370 

371 

372 

373 

374 


375 


376 


377 


PRICE. 


The Two Admirals. A Tale of 
the Sea. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

The House on the Moor. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

At Any Cost. By Edward Gar- 
rett 10 

The Black Dwarf, and A Leg- 
end of Montrose. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

The Lottery of Life. A Story 
of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 
That Terrible Man. By W. E. 
Norris. The Princess Dago- 
mar of Poland. By Heinrich 

Felbermann 10 

A Good Hater. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

John. A Love Story. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 
wick Harwood 20 

The Water- Witch. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 2# 

Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 
cillon 20 

The Red Rover, A Tale of the 
Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
The Bride of Lammermoor. 

By Sir Walter Scott 20 

The Surgeon’s Daughter. By 

Sir Walter Scott 10 

Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 10 

George Christy; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 

Pastor 20 

The Mysterious Hunter; or. 
The Man of Death, By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 

Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20 
The Southern Star ; or, the Dia- 
mond Land. By Jules Verne 20 
Miss Eretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 10 

LucyCrofton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 
Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oli- 
phant 20 

Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 
thor of “ His Wedded Wife 10 
Wing-and-Wing. J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 


The Dead Man’s Secret ; or. The 
Adventures of a Medical Stu- 
.dent. By Dr. Jupiter Paeon.. 20 
A Ride to Khiva. By Capt. Fred 
Burnaby, of the Royal Horse 


Guards ’20 

The Crime of Christmas-Day. 

By the author of “ My Duc- 
ats and My Daughter 10 

Magdalen Hepburn : A Story 
of the Scottish Reformation. 

B 3 ’^ Mrs, Oliphant 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY -Pocket Edition. 




20 


10 


20 


10 

10 


^ 2 : , PRICE. 

378 Homeward Bound; or, The 

Chase. J. Fenimore Cooper. . 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound.”) By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 

380 Wyandotte; or. The Hutted 

Knoll. J. Fenimore Cooper. . 

381 The Red Cardinal. By Frances 

Elliot 

382 Three Sisters; or, Sketches of 
a Highly Original Family. 

By Elsa D’Esterre-Keeling. . . 

383 Introduced to Society. By Ham- 

ilton Aide 10 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor. Capt. Fred Burnaby. 

385 The Headsman; or, TheAbbaye 

des Vignerons. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 20 

•386 Led Astray ; or, “La Petite Comt- 
esse.” By Octave Feuillet. . . 10 

387 The Secret of the Cliffs. By 

Charlotte French 20 

388 Addie’s Husband; or. Through 

Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of “Love or Lauds?” 

389 Ichabod. By Bertha Thomas... 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

391 Tlie Heart of Mid-Lothian. By 

Sir Walter Scott 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 20 

393 The Pirate. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

394 The Bravo. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire. By 

Jules Verne 10 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey *. 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or. The Leaguer 

of Boston. Bj^ J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

398 Matt: A Tale of a (IJaravan. 

By Robert Buchanan 10 

399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. . 20 

400 The W^t of Wish-Ton-AVish. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

401 Wayerley. By Sir AValter Scott 20 

402 Lilliesleaf ; or. Passages in the 

Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunnyside. By Mrs. 
Oliphant 20 

403 An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 

ridge 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. By Sam- 

. uel AVarren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

409 Roy’s Wife. By G. J. AAHiyte- 

Melville 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 10 


20 

10 




NO. PRICE. 

411 A Bitter Atonement. By Char- 

lotte M. Biaeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

412 Some One Else. ByB. M. Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or. The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

417 The Fair Maid of Perth; or, St. 

Valentine’s Day. BySirAVal- 
ter Scott 2$ 

418 St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir AA^al- 

ter Scott 20 

419 The Chaiubearer ; or. The Little- 

page Manuscripts. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

420 Satanstoe; or, Tlie Littlepage 

Manusci’ipts. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of The Littlepage Manu- 
scripts. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

422 Precaution. J.Fenimore Cooper 20 

423 The Sea-Lions; or. The Lost 
Sealers. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 

Voyage to Cathay. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

425 The Oak Openings ; or. The Bee- 

Hunter. J. Fenimore (hooper. 20 

426 Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 

worth Taylor 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., M.P., 
formerly known as “ Tommy 
Upmore.” R. D. Blackmore. 20 

428 Z4ro: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell Praed 10 

429 Boulderstone; or. New Men and 

Old Populations. By AA’iliam 
Sime 10 

430 A Bitter Reckoning. By tlie 

author of “B.y Crooked Paths” 10 

431 The Monikius. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

432 The AATtch’s Head. By H. Rider 

Haggard 20 

433 My Sister Kate. By Charlotte 

.M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne,” and A Rainy June. 

By “ Onida ” 10 

434 AVyllard’s Weird. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

435 Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. By George Taylor... . 20 

436 Stella. By Fannj^ Lewald 20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 26 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. 

438 Found Out. Helen B. Mathers. 10 

439 Great Expectations. By Chas. 

Dickens 20 

440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings. By 

Charles Dickens ’ 10 

441 A Sea Change. Flora L. Shaw. 20 

442 Ranthorpe. By George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of The Albany. . . 10 

444 The Heart of Jane Warner. By 

Florence Marry at 20 

445 The Shadow of a Crime. By 

Hall Caine 20 

446 Dame Durden. By “Rita” 20 

447 American Notes. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c. By Chas. 
Dickens .. 20 

449 Peeress and Player. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

450 Godfrey Helstone. ByGeorgiana 

M. Craik 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 

the Bar. By G. J. Whyte- 
Melville 20 

452 In the West Countrie. By May 

Crommelin 20 

453 The Lottery Ticket. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

455 Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

Robinson 20 

456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative of 

Every-day Life and Every-day 
People. By Charles Dickens. 20 

457 The Russians at the Gates of 


Herat. By Charles Marvin. .. 10 

458 A Week of Passion ; or, The Di- 

lemma of Mr. George Barton 
the Younger. By Edward Jen- 
kins 20 

459 A Woman’s Temptation. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of “Dora Thorne” 20 

460 Under a Shadow. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 20 

461 His Wedded Wife. By the au- 

thor of “ A Fatal Dower” 20 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 

land. By Lewis Carroll. With 
forty-iwo illustrations by 
John Tenniel 20 

463 Redgauntlet. Sir Walter Scott. 20 

464 The Newcomes. By Wm. Make- 

peace Thackeray. Parti 20 

464 The Newcomes. By Wm. Make- 

peace Thackeray, Part II 20 

465 The Earl's Atonement. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

466 Between Two Loves. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

467 A Struggle for a Ring. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 


NO. PRICK. 


468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad, 

of a Sewing-Girl. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley lO 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
ThoMie ” 20 

471 Thrown on the World. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 

By William Black lO 

473 A Lost Son. By Mary Linskill. 10 

474 Serapis. By George Ebers 20 

475 The Prima Donna’s Husband. 

By F. Du Boisgobey 20 

476 Between Two Sins. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” lO 


477 Affinities. A Romance of To- 

day. By Mrs. Campbell Praed. 10 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter 

ByMissM. E. Braddon. Parti. 20 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter 

Bj^ Miss M. E. Braddon. Part II. 20 

479 Louisa. Katharines. Macquoid 20 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

481 The House that Jack Built. By 

4^A Vagrant Wife. By F. Warden 20 

483 Betwixt My Love and Me. B,y 

the author of “A Golden Bar” 10 

484 Although He Was a Lord, and 


Other Tales. Mrs. Forrester. 10 
inted Vapours. ByJ. Maclaren 
Cobban lo 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart. By “The 

Duchess” , 20 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

489 Rupert Godwin. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

490 A Second Life. Mrs. Alexander 20 

491 Societ}^ in London. By A For- 

eign Resident 10 

492 Mignon ; or. Booties’ Baby. By 

J. S. Winter. Illustrated 10 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. By 

Lucas Malet 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Bar- 

bara. By “The Duchess ”.. . 10 

495 Mount Royal. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

497 The Lady’s Mile. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

498 Only a Clod. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

499 The Cloven Foot. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

500 Adrian Vidal. By W. E. Norris. 20 

501 Mr. Butler’s Ward. By F. 

Mabel Robinson ^ 



THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


PRICE. 

502 Carriston’s Gift. ByHughCon- 
_ way, author of “Called Back ” 10 
603 The Tinted Venus. F. Anstey. ID 
501 Curly: An Actor’s Story. By 
John Coleman. Illustrated. 

My Poor Wife. By the au- 
thor of “ Addie’s Husband 10 

505 The Society of London. By 

Count Paul Vasili 10 

506 Lady Lovelace. By tne author 

of “ Judith Wynne ’’ 20 

507 Chronicles of the Canongate, 

and Other Stories. By Sir 
Walter Scott 10 

508 The Unholy Wish. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood. The Girl at the 
Gate. By Wilkie Collins 10 

509 NellHaffenden. Tighe Hopkins 20 

510 A Mad Love. By the author of 

“ Lover and Lord ” 10 

611 A Strange World. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

512 The Waters of Hercules. 20 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry 
Wood 10 

514 The Mystery of Jessy Page, and 

Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry 
Wood •; 10 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

516 Put Asunder; or, Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ’’ 20 

517 A Passive Crime, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ’’ 10 

518 The Hidden Sin. A Novel 20 

519 James Gordon’s Wife. A Novel 20 

520 She’s All the World te Me. By 

Hall Caine 10 

521 Entangled. E. Fairfax Byrrne 20 

622 Zig-Zag, the Clown ; or. The 

Steel Gauntlets. By F. Du 
Boisgobe}^ ' 20 

623 The Consequences of a Duel. 

By F. Du Boisgobey 20 

524 Strangers and Pilgrims. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories. 

By Hugh Conway, author of 
“ Called Back ’’ 10 

526 Madame De Presnel. By E. 

Frances Poynter 20 

627 The Days of My Life. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

528 At His Gates. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

629 The Doctor’s Wife. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

630 A Pair of Blue Eyes. Thomas 

Hardy 20 

531 The Prime Minister. Anthony 

Trollope. First half 20 

531 The Prime Minister. Anthony 

Trollope. Second half 20 

632 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 

533 Hazel Kirke. By Marie Walsh 20 

534 Jack. By Alphonse Daudet... 20 




NO. PRICK. 

535 Henrietta’s Wish; or. Domi- 

neering. Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

536 Dissolving Views. By Mrs. An- 

drew Lang 10 

637 Piccadilly. Laurence Oliphant 1 C 

538 A Fair Country Maid. By E. 

Fairfax Byrrne 20 

539 Silvermead. Jean Middlemas. 20 

540 At a High Price. By E. Werner 20 

541 “As it Fell Upon a Day.” By 

“ The Duchess,” and Uncle 
Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

542 Fenton’s Quest. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

543 A Family Affair. By Hugh 

Conway, author of “Called 
Back ” 20 

544 Cut by the County; or, Grace 

Darnel. Miss M. E. Braddon. 10 

545 Vida’s Story lo 

546 Mrs. Keith’s Crime 10 

547 A Coquette’s Conquest. By Basil 20 

548 A Fatal Marriage, and The 

Shadow in the Corner. By 
Miss M. E. Braddon 10 

549 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 

er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon lo 

550 Struck Down. Hawley Smart. 10 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey. . . 

552 Hostages to Fortune. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 

553 Birds of Prey. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (A Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey.”) By 
Miss M. E. Braddon 

555 Cara Roma. By Miss Grant. . . 

556 A Prince of Darkness. By F. 

Warden 20 

557 To the Bitter End. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

558 Poverty Corner. ByG.Manville 

Fenn 20 

559 Taken at the Flood. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

560 Asphodel. Miss M. E. Braddon ^ 

561 Just As I Am ; or, A Living Lie. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

562 Lewis Arundel; or, The Rail- 

road of Life. By Frank E. 
Smedley 20 

563 The Two Sides of the Shield. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

564 At Bay. By Mrs. Alexander... 10 

565 No Medium, By Annie Thomas 10 

566 The Royal Highlanders ; or, The 

Black Watch in Egypt. By 
James Grant 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

568 The Perpetual Curate. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

569 Harry Muir. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

570 John Marchmont’s Legacy. By 

Miss M. E, Braddon 29 


20 

20 

20 


20 

20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY -Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. 

571 Paul Crew’s Story. By Alice 

Corny ns Carr 10 

672 Healey. By Jessie Fothergill.. 20 

573 Love’s Harvest. B. L. Far jeon 20 

574 The Nabob: A Story of Parisian 

Life and Manners. By Al- 
phonse Daudet 20 

575 The Fing:er of Fate. By Cap- 

tain Mayne Reid 20 

576 Her Martyrdom. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 20 

577 In Peril and Privation. By 

James Pay n 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. Part I. (Illustrated).. 10 
578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. Part II. (Illustrated) 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. Part III. (Illustrated) 10 

579 The Flower of Doom, and Other 

Stories. By M. Betham-Ed- 
wards 10 

580 The Red Route. William Sime 20 

581 The Betrothed. (I Promessi 

Sposi.) Alessandro Manzoni. 20 

582 Lucia, Hns:h and Another. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needed 20 

683 Victory Deane. Cecil Griffith . . 20 

584 Mixed Motives 10 

585 A Drawn Game. By Basil 20 

586 “For Percival.” By Margraret 

Veley 20 

587 The Parson o’ Dumford. By G. 

Manville Fenn 20 

588 Cherry. By the author of “ A 

Great Mistake ” 10 

589 The Luck of the Darrells. By 

James Payn 20 

590 The Courting: of Mary Smith. 

By F. W. Robinson 20 

591 The Queen of Hearts. By Wil- 

kie Collins 20 

592 A Strange Voyage. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

693 Berna Boyle. By Mrs. J. H. 

Riddell 20 

694 Doctor Jacob. By Miss Betham- 

Ed wards 20 

595 A North Country Maid. By Mrs. 

H. Lovett Cameron 20 

596 My Ducats and My Daughter. 

By the author of “The Crime 

of Christmas Day ” 20 

697 Haco the Dreamer. By Will- 
iam Sime 10 

598 Corinna. By “ Rita.” 10 

599 Lancelot Ward, M. P. By 

George Tern pie 10 

600 Houp-La. By John Strange 

Winter. (Illustrated) 10 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

Stories. By Hugh Conway, 
author of “ Called Back ” 10 

602 Camiola: A Girl With a Fort- 

une. By Justin McCarthy. . . 20 

603 Agnes. IHrs. Oliphant. 1st half 20 
603 Agnes. Mrs. Oliphant. 2d half 20 


NO. PRICK. 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 

Life. Mrs. Oliphant. 1st half 20 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 

Life. Mrs. Oliphant. 2d half 20 

605 Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

606 Mrs. Holly er. By Georgiana M. 

Craik 20 

607 Self-Doomed. By B. L. Farjeon 10 

608 For Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette 

Carey 2® 

609 The Dark House: A Knot Un- 

raveled. By G. Manville Fenn 10 

610 The Story of Dorothy Grape, 

and Other Tales. By Mrs. 
Henry Wood 10 

611 Babylon. By Cecil Power 20 

612 My Wife’s Niece. By the au- 

thor of “ Dr. Edith Romney ” 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet. By Wilkie 
Collins 10 

614 No. 99. By Arthur (Griffiths... 10 

615 Mary Anefley. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

616 The Sacred Nugget. By B. L. 

Farjeon 20 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss. By “Rita”. 20 

618 The Mistletoe Boutrh. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

619 Joy; or, The Light of Cold- 

Home Ford. By May Crom-. 
melin 20 

620 Between the Heather and the 
Northern Sea. M. Linskill. . . 20 

621 The Warden. Anthony Trollope 10 

622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. 

By Anthony Trollope 10 

623 My* Lady's Money. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

624 Primus in Indis. By M. J. 

Colquhoun 10 

625 Erenaa; or. My Father’s Sin. 

By R. D. Blackmore 20 

626 A Fair Mystery. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 20 

627 White Heather. By Wm. Black 20 

628 Wedded Hands. By the author 

of “ My Lady’s Folly ” 2o 

629 Cripps, the Carrier. By R. D. 

Blackmore 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. First half 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 
Blackmore. Second half — 20 

631 Christowell. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

632 Clara Vaughan. ByR.D. Black- 

more 20 

633 The Maid of Sker. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 1st half 20 

633 The Maid of Sker. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 2d half 20 

634 The Unforeseen. By Alice 

O’Hanlon .* 20 

635 Murder or Manslaughter? By 

Helen B. Mathers 10 

ao) 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition. 


PRICK 

636 Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Black- 

more. 1st half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Black- 

more. 2d half. .’ 20 

637 What’s His Offence ? A Novel. 20 
688 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

Black Horse) Dragoons. Bv 
J. S. Winter 10 

639 Othmar. By “ Ouida ” * 20 

640 Nuttie’s Father. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

641 The Rabbi’s Spell. By Stuart 

C. Cumberland 10 

642 Britta. By George Temple. ... 10 

643 The Sketch-book of Geoffrey 

Crayon, Gent. By Washing- 
ton Irving 20 

644 A Girtou Girl. By Mrs. Aiinie 

Edwards 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longnjains. By 

R h o d a Broughton, and 
Oliver’s Bride. By Mrs. Oli- 
phant 10 

646 The Master of the Mine. By- 

Robert Buchanan 20 

647 Goblin Gold. By May (3rom- 

melin 10 

648 The Angel of the Bells. By F. 

Du Boisgobey 20 

649 Cradle and Spade. By Williani 

Sime 20 

650 Alice ; or, The Mysteries. (A Se- 

quel to “ Ernest Maltra vers.”) 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 20 

651 “Self or Bearer.” By Walter 

Besant 10 

652 The Lady With the Rubies. By 

E. Marlitt 20 

653 A Barren Title. T. W. Speight 10 

654 ” Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

By Mrs. Molesworth 10 

655 The Open Door, and The Por- 

trait. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 

Francillon and AVm. Senior... 10 

657 Christmas Angel. By B. L. 

Far jeon 10 

658 The History of a Week. By 

Mrs. L. B. Walford 10 

659 The Waif of the “ Cynthia.” By 

Jules Verne 20 

660 The Scottish Chiefs. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 1st half 20 

660 The Scottish Chiefs. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 2d half 20 

661 Rainbow Gold. By David Chris- 

tie Murray 20 

662 The Mystery of Allan Grale. 

By Isabella Fy vie Mayo 20 

663 Handy Andy By Samuel 

Lover 20 

664 Rory O’More. By Samuel Lover 20 

665 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

666 My Young Alcides. By Char- 

lotte M. Yonge 20 

667 The Golden Lion of (iranpere. 

By Anthony Trollope 20 


PKICK. 

Anglo-French 

20 

20 

10 
10 

20 


-ai) 


NO. 

668 Half-^¥a5^ An 

Romance 

669 The Philosophy of Whist. By 

William Pole 

670 The Rose and the Ring. By W. 

Thackeray. Illustrated... 
Gesualdo. By “ Oiiida.”. 
o<2 In Maremma. By “Ouida” 

1st half 

672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida ” 

2d half ' 20 

673 Story of a Sin. By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

674 First Person Singular. By 

David Christie Murray 20 

6<5 Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thack- 
eray 20 

676 A Child’s History of England. 

_ . By Charles Dickens 20 

b7< Griselda. By the author of “ A 
Woman’s Love-Story ” 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

679 Where Two Ways Meet. By 

Sarah Doudney 10 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 20 

081 A Singer’s Story. By May Laf- 

fan 10 

682 In the Middle Watch. By W. 

Clark Russell ’ 20 

683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 

forth. By Mrs. J. Harcourt- 
Roe 20 

684 Last Days at Apswich. . . ." 10 

685 England Under Gladstone. 1880 

—1885. By Justin H.McCarthy, 
M.P 20 

686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde. By Robert Louis 
Stevenson _ lo 

687 A Country Gentleman. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

688 A Man of Honor. By John 
Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10 

689 The Heir Presumptive. By 

Florence Marry at 20 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

By Thomas Hardy '20 

691 Valentine Strange. By David 

Christie Murray 20 

692 The Mikado, and Other Comic 

Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 
Sullivan .20 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical. "By 

George Eliot 20 

694 John Maidment. By Julian 

Sturgis 20 

695 Hearts: Queen. Knave, and 

Deuce. By David Christie 
Murray 20 

696 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss 

Jane Porter 20 

697 The Pretty Jailer. By F. Dii 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

697 The Pretty Jailer. By F. Du 
Boisgobey. 2d half 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. -Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. NO. 

698 A Life’s Atonement. By David 730 

Christie Murray 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. Ist half. . . 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. 2d half... 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. 1st half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. 2d half 20 

701 The Woman in White. Wilkie 

Collins. Illustrated. 1st half 20 

701 The Woman in White. Wilkie 

Collins. Illustrated. 2d half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. First half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. Second half 20 

703 A House Divided Against Itself. 

By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

704 Prince Otto. R. L. Stevenson. 10 

705 The Woman I Loved, and the 

Woman Who Loved Me. By 
Isa Blagden 10 

706 A Crimson Stain. By Annie 

Bradshaw 10 

707 Silas Marner. The Weaver of 

Raveloe. By George Eliot ... 10 

708 Ormond. By Maria Edgeworth 20 

709 Zenobia ; or, the Fall of ralmyra 

By William Ware. 1st half . . 20 

709 Zenobia ; or, the Fall of Palmyra 

By William Ware. 2d half. . . 20 

710 The Greatest Heiress in Eng- 

land. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

711 A Cardinal Sin. Hugh Conway 20 

712 For Maimie’s Sake. Grant Allen 20 

713 “ Cherry Ripe !” By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty. By 

Tighe Hopkins 20 

715 I Have Lived and Loved. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished. By 

Mary Cecil Hay 20 

717 Beau Tancrede; or. The Mar- 

riage Verdict. By Alexander 
Dumas 20 

718 Unfairly Won. By Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

719 Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. By 

Lord Byron 10 

720 Paul Clifford. By SirE. Bulwer 

Lytton, Bart 20 

721 Dolores. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

722 What’s Mine’s Mine. By George 

Macdonald 20 

723 Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 

Wemyss Reid 20 

724 My Lord and My Lady. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

725 My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

By Silvio Pellico 10 

726 My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester... 20 

727 Fair Women. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

728 Janet's Repentance. By George 

Eliot 10 

729 Mignon. Mrs. Forrester 20 

'< 12 ),- 


731 

732 

733 

734 

735 

736 

737 

738 

739 


740 

741 


742 

743 

743 

744 

745 


'46 


747 

748 

749 

750 


750 


751 

751 

752 

753 

754 


755 

756 


757 


PRICE. 

The Autobiography of Benja- 
min Franklin 10 

The Bayou Bride. By Mrs. Mary 

E. Bryan 20 

From C%mpus to Had«s. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

Lady Branksmere. By “The 

Duchess” 20 

Viva. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

Until the Day Breaks. By 

Emily Spender 20 

Roy and Viola. Mrs. Forrester 20 
Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murray 10 

In the Golden Days. By Edna 

Lyall 20 

The Caged Lion. By Charlotte 
M. Yonge 20 

Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

The Heiress of Hilldrop; or. 
The Romance of a Young 
Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 
Love and Life. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 20 

Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d half 20 

Diana Care w; or. For a Wom- 
an’s Sake. By Mrs. Forrester 20 
For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

Cavalry Life; or. Sketches and 
Stories in Barracks and Out. 

By J. S. Winter 20 

Our Sensation Novel. Edited 
by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.. 10 

Hurrish: A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawdess 20 

Lord -Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 

Mabel Collins 20 

An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. By Fritz Reuter. First 

half 20 

An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. By Fritz Reuter. Second 

half 20 

Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. Jules Verne. Ist half 20 
Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. Jules Verne. 2d half 20 
Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 

By Juliana Horatia Ewing. . 10 

King Solomon’s Mines. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

How to be Happy Though Mar- 
ried. By a Graduate in the 

University of Matrimony 20 

Margery Daw. A Novel 20 

The Strange Adventures of Cap- 
tain Dangerous. A Narrative 
in Plain English. Attempted 

by George Augustus Sala 20 

Love’s Martyr. By Laurence 
Alma Tadema 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY -Pocket Edition. 


CL ^ , PRICK. 

758 Good-bye, Sweetheart !” By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

759 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 

Armitt 20 

760 Aurelian ; or, Rome in the Third 

Century. By William Ware.. 20 

761 Will Weatherhelm. By Wm. 

H. G. Kingston 20 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such. By George Eliot 10 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke 

Merry. By Wm. H. G. Kingston 20 
<64 The Evil Genius. By Wilkie 
Collins 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

766 No. XIII ; or, the Story of the 

Lost Vestal. By Emma Mar- 
shall JQ 

767 Joan. By Rhoda Broughton... 20 
T68 Red as a Rose is She. By Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

770 The Castle of Otranto. By 

Horace Walpole 10 

771 A Mental Struggle. By “ The 

Duchess” 20 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood 

Trader, By R. M. Ballantvne 20 

773 The Mark of Cain. By Andrew 

Lang 10 

T74 The Life and Travels of Mungo 
Park 10 

775 The Three Clerks. By Anthony 

Trollope 20 

776 P^re Goriot. By H. De Balzac. 20 

777 The A^'oyages and Travels of Sir 

John Maundeville, Kt 10 

778 Society’s Verdict. BytheAuthor 

of “ My Marriage ” 20 

779 Doom! An Atlantic Episode. 

By Justin H. McCarthy, 'M.P. 10 

780 Rare Pale Margaret. By author 

of “ What’s His Offence?” 20 

781 The Secret Dispatch. By James 

Grant 10 

782 The Closed Door. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

782 The Closed Door. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 2d half 20 

783 Chantry House. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

784 The Two Miss Flemings. By the 

author of “ What’s His 
Offence?” 20 

785 The Haunted Chamber. By 

“ The Duchess ” 10 

786 Ethel Mildmay’s Follies. By 

author of “ Petite’s Romance” 20 


NO. 


PHICK, 


787 Court Royal./ A Story of Cross 

Currents. By S. Baring-Gould 20 

788 Tke Absentee. An Irish Story. 

By Maria Edgeworth 20 

789 Through the Looking - Glass, 

and What Alice Found Tliere. 

By Lewis Carroll. With fifty 
illustrations by John Tenniel. 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or. The 

White and Black Ribaumont. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or. The 

White and Black Ribaumont. 

_ Cl‘arlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20 

791 The Mayor of Casterbridge. By 

Thomas Hardy 20 

792 Set in Diamonds. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Right iion. 

Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 
Beaconsfield. First half 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Right Hon. 

Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 
Beaconsfield. Second half. . . 20 

794 Beaton’s Bargain. By Mrs, Al- 

exander 20 

795 Sam’s Sweetheart. By Helen 

B, Mathers 20 

796 In a Grass Country. A Story of 

Love and Sport. By Mrs. H. 
Lovett Cameron 20 

797 Look Before You Leap. By 

Mrs. Alexander 20 

798 The Fashion of this World. Bj’- 

Helen B. Mathers 10 

799 My Lady Green Sleeves. By 

Helen B. Mathers 20 

800 Hopes and Fears; or. Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20 

800 Hopes and Fears; or. Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20 

801 She Stoops to Conquer, and 

The Cood-Natured Man. By 
Oliver Goldsmith lo 

802 A Stern Chase. Mrs.Cashel-Hoey 20 

803 Major Frank. By A. L. G. Bos- 

boom-Toussaint 20 

804 Living or Dead. By Hugh Con- 

way, author of “ Called Back ” 20 

805 The Frer«s. By Mrs. Alexan- 
der. First half 20 

805 The Freres. By Mrs. Alexan- 
der. Second half 20 

807 If Love be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 20 

808 King Arthur. Not a Love Story. 

By Miss Mulock 20 

810 The Secret of Her Life. By Ed- 
ward Jenkins. . . ‘ 20 


The foregoing works, contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of price. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. Ad- 
Cll ©ss 

GEORGE MIJNRO, 

MIJNRO’8 PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

P. O. Box 3751, 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 

a3) 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition 

LATEST ISSUES: 


NO. PRICK. 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

804 Living: or Dead. By Hugh Con- 

way, author of “ Called Back ” 20 

805 The Freres. By Mrs. Alexan- 

der. First half 20 

805 The Freres. By Mrs. Alexan- 

der. Second half 20 

806 Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alex- 

ander. First half 20 

806 Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alex- 

ander. Second half 20 

807 If Love be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 20 

808 King Arthur. Not a Love Story. 

By Miss Mulock 20 

809 Witness My Hand. By the au- 

thor of “Lady Gwendolen’s 
Tryst” 10 

810 The Secret of Her Life. By Ed- 

ward Jenkins 20 

811 The Head Station. By Mrs. 

Cainpbell-Praed 20 

812 No Saint. By Adeline Sergeant 20 

813 Army Society. Life in a Garri- 

son 'I'owu. By John Strange 
Winter 10 

814 The Heritage of Langdale. By 

Blrs. Alexander 20 

815 Ralph Wilton’s Weird. Bj^ Mrs. 

Alexander 10 

816 Rogues and Vagabonds. By 

George R. Sims, author of 
“’Ostler Joe” 20 

817 Stabbed in the Dark. By Mrs. 

E. Lynn Linton 10 

818 Pluck. By John Strange Winter 10 

819 A Fallen Idol. By F. Anstey. . . 20 

820 Doris’s Fortune. By Florence 

W^arden 10 

821 The World Between Them. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of “ Dora Thorne.” 20 

822 A Passion Flower. A Novel 20 

823 The Heir of the Ages. By James 

Payn 2a 

824 Her Own Doing. W. E. Norris 10 

825 The Master Passion. By Flor- 

ence Marry at 20 

826 Cynic Fortune. By D. Christie 

Murray 20 

827 Efiie Ogilvie. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

828 The Prettiest Woman in War- 

saw. By Mabel Collins 20 

829 The Actor’s Ward. By the au- 

thor of “ A Fatal Dower ”... 20 

830 Bound by a Spell. Hugh Con- 

way, author of “ Called Back ” 20 

831 Pomegranate Seed. By the au- 

thor of “ The Two Miss Flem- 
ings,” etc 20 

The foregoing works, contained in 


NO. PRICK. 

832 Kidnapped. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson 20 

833 Ticket No. “9672.” By Jules 

Verne. First half 10 

834 A Ballroom Repentance. By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

835 Vivian the Beauty. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 20 

836 A Point of Honor. By Mrs An- 

nie Edwards 20 

837 A Vagabond Heroine. By Mi s. 

Annie Edwards 10 

838 Ought We to Visit Her? By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

839 Leah : A Woman of Fashion. 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

840 One Thing Needful; or. The 

Penalty of Fate. By Miss M. 

E. Brad don 20 

841 Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 10 

842 A Blue-Stocking. By Mrs An- 

nie Edwards lO 

843 Archie Lovell. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

844 Susan Fielding. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

845 Philip Earnscliffe; or, The 

Morals of May Fair. By BIrs. 
Annie Edwards 20 

847 Bad to Beat. By Hawley Smart 10 

848 My Friend Jim. ByW.E. Norris 10 

849 A Wicked Girl. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

850 A Playwright’s Daughter. By 

BIrs. Annie Edwards 10 

851 The Cry of Blood. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. E'irst half 20 

851 The Cry of Blood. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. Second half 20 

852 Under. Five Lakes ; or. The 

Cruise of Die “Destroyer.” 

By M. Quad 20 

853 A True Magdalen. By Char- 

lotte BI. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne.” First half 20 
853 A True Magdalen. By Char- 


lotte M Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne.” Second half 20 
855 The Dynamiter. Robert Louis 


Stevenson and Fanny Van de 

Grift Stevenson 20 

856 New Arabian Nights. By Rob- 
ert Louis Stevenson 20 

859 Ottilie: An Eighteenth Century 
Idyl. By Vernon Lee. The 
Prince of the 100 Soups. Ed- 
ited by Vernon Lee 20 


^ „ The Skasidk Library, Pocket Edition, 

are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of price. Parties ordering by mail ivill please order by numbers. Ad- 
dress 

GEORGE MIJNRO, 

WUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

* m 2'' Vandewater Street, N. Y. 

A True Magdalen. Second half 


JUST ISSUED. 


JUST ISSUED 


JULIET CORSON’S 

NEW FAMILY COOK BOOK. 

BY MISS JUIilET CORSON, 

Author of “ Meals for the Million,” etc., etc. 
SuPERIJ«TENDENT OP THE NeW YoRK SCHOOL OP CoOKERY. 


FBICE ; HARESOHELY BOUND' IN CLOTH, $1.00. 


A COMPREHENSIVE COOK BOOK 

Kor Family Use in City and Country. 

CONTAINING 

PBACTICAL KECIPES AND FULL AND PLAIN DIREC- 
TIONS FOR COOKING ALL DISHES USED 
IN AMERICAN HOUSEHOLDS. 

The Best and Most Economical Methods of Cooking: Meats, Fish, 
yeg:etables, Sauces, Salads, Puddings and Pies. 

How to Prepare Relishes and Savory Accessories, Picked-up Dishes, 
Soups, Seasoning, Stuffing and Stews. 

• 

Bow to Make Good Bread, Biscuit, Omelets, Jellies, Jams, Pam* 
cakes. Fritters and Fillets. 


Miss Corson is the best American writer on cooking. All of her recipes 
have been carefully tested in the New York School of Cookery. If her direc- 
tions are carefully followed there will be no failures and no reason for com- 
plaint. Her directions are always plain, very complete, and easily followed. 

Juliet Corson’s New Family Cook Book 

Is sold by all newsdealers. It will be sent, postpaid, on receipt of prims: 
handsomely bound in cloth, $1.00. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Yanaewater St., N. ¥«• 


THE NEW YOKK F ASHION BAZAR 


BOOK OF THE TOILET, 

PRICE S5 CEJ^S. 

THIS IS A LITTLE BOOK 

WHICH 

WE CAN RECOMMEND TO EVERY LADY 

FOR THR 

f SESEEVAIION AND INCREASE OF HEALTH AND BEAITTl 

IT CONTAINS FULL DIRECTIONS FOR ALL THE 

ARTS AND MYSTERIES OF PERSONAL DECORATION, 

AND FOR 

Increasing the Natural Graces of Form and Expression. 

ALL THE LITTLE AFFECTIONS OF THE 

ESlciii, Hair, E3res and. Eod.y 

THAT DETRACT FROM APPEARANCE AND HAPPINESS 

Are Made the Subjects of Precise and Ezcellent Becipes. 

ladles Are Instructed How to Rednce Their Weight 

Without Injury to Health and Without Producing 
Pallor and Weakness. 

HOTHOTG HECESSABY TO 

A COMPLETE TOILET BOOK OF RECIPES 

AND 

VALUABLE ADVICE AND INFOEKATIOH 
WS BEEN OVERLOOKED IN THE COMPILATION OF THIS VOLUME 

For sale by all Newsdealers, or sent to any address on receipt of aft c«inie 
postage prepaid, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

<X Box 8761, 27 to IT Tandewater Street, N, Y 


'Ouida’s” Latest Novel Now Keadj Ir 
L arge, Bold, Handsome Type. 

OTHMAR. 


By “ OUIDA.” 

Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, No. 639^ 


price: so CRrvTS. 


For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaic, 
Ml receipt of price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing: House, 

P.O.Box 8751. 17 to ^7* Vande water Street, N. Y. 


NOW EEADT— Beautifully Bound in Cloth— PBIOB 60 OENTR 

A NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION 

OF THAT MOST DELIGHTFUL OF CHILDREN’S STORIES, 

Alice’s Adventiires in Wonderland, 

By LEWIS CARROLL, 

Author of " Through the Iiooking-G-Iass,” etc. 

With Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations by John Tennlel. 

The most delicious and taking nonsense (or children ever written. A 
book to be read by all mothers to their little ones. It makes them dan^ 
with delight. Everybody enjoys the fun of this charming writer for the 

THIS^NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION, BOUND IN CLOTH, PRICE 60 £ENTa 
IS PRINTED IN LARGE, HANDSOME, READA^E TYPE, 

ALL THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS 
OF THE EXPENSIVE ENGLISH EDITION. 


glent l>y Mail &n. Receipi of 50 Cents* 

Addrm OEOBGK MUNRO, Munro’s Publtshinir Hoasa, 

^ a, Bax 3751* "^7 Vaodewater Street, New Yorkt 


KUNRO^S PUBLICATIONS. 


The Philosophy of Whist 

AN ESSAY ON THE SCIENTIFIC AND INTELLECTUAL 
ASPECTS OF THE MODERN GAME. 

IN TWO PARTS. 

WAMt L— THE PHILOSOPHY OF WHIST PLAY. 

Part II.— THE PHILOSOPHY OF WHiST PROBABILITUili 

By WILLIAM POLE, 

Mus. Doo. OxoN. 

Fellow of the Royal Societies of London and Edinburgh; 

One of the Examiners in the University of London; 

Knight of the Japanese Imperial Order of the Rising Sun. 

Complete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. dOt, 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE. 

PKIOU ao CENtXS. 

For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, oa 
receipt of the price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE 31UNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 8751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York 


Munro’s Dialogues and Speakers. 

PRICE 10 CENTS EACH. 


These books embrace a series of Dialogues and Speeches, all new and 
original, and are just what is needed to give spice and merriment to Social 
Parties, Home Entertainments, Debating Societies, School Recitations, Ama> 
teiir Theatricals, etc. They contain Irish, German, Negro, Yankee, and, is 
facr, all kinds of Dialogues aud Speeches. The following are the titles of iho 
hooks: 

Mo. 1. The Funny Fellow’s Dialogue*. 

No. tl. The Cleiueiice and Donkey Dialogues. 

No. 3. Mrs. Smith’s Boarders* Dialogues. 

No. 4. Schoslboys’ Comic Dlalognoo* 


Mo. 1. Vot I Know ’Bout Gruel Societies Speaker. 

No. The John B. Go-olT Comic Speaker. 

No. 3. My Boy Vilhelm’s Speaker. 

above titles express, in a slight degree, the contents of the book^ 
which are conceded to be the best series of mirth-provoking Speeches om 
D ialogues extant. Price 10 cents each. Address 


GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 97 Toiidewater Stsreet. New York 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 

Old Sleuth Library 


H Series of the Most Thrilling DetectiYe Stories 
Ever Published ! 


90 , pbiob 

1 Old Sleuth the Detective 10c 

2 The King of the Detectives 10c 

8 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. Mrst Mlf . ... lOc 

8 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. Second half. 10c 

4 Under a Million Disguises 10c 

6 Night Scenes in New York 10c 

6 Old Electricity, the Lightning Detective 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. First half. 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. Second half, 10c 

8 Red-Light Will, the River Detective. 10c 

9 Iron Burgess, the Government Detective 10c 

10 The Brigands of New York lOc 

11 Track d by a Ventriloquist 10c 

12 The Twin Detectives lOc 

13 The French Detective 10c 

14 Billy Wayne, the St. Louis Detective 10c 

16 The New York Detective 10c 

16 O’Neil McDarragh, the Irish Detective. . 10c 

17 Old Sleuth in Harness Again 10c 

18 The Lady Detective 10c 

19 The Yankee Detective 10c 

20 The Fastest Boy in New York... tOc 

21 Black Raven, the Georgia Detective 10c 

22 Night-Hawk, the Mounted Detective 10c 

23 The Gypsv Detective 10c 

24 The Mysteries and Miseries of New York 10c 

25 Old Terrible 10c 

26 The Smugglers of New York Bay 10c 

27 Manfred, the Magic Trick Detective 10c 

28 Mura, the Western Lady Detective 10c 

29 Monsieur Armand; or. The French Detective in New 

York 10c 

80 Lady Kate, the Dashing Girl Detective. First half . ... 10c 

80 Lady Kate, the Dashing Girl Detective. Second half . . 10c 

81 Hamud, the Detective 10c 


The Publisher will send any of the above works by mail, 
^ . #luge prepaid, on receipt of the price, 10 cents each. Addresf 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

Munro’s Publishing House, 

<0. Bok ffnu. 17 lo 87 Yandewater St. and 45 to 53 Rose St. Kew Yocft 


MtJNKO^S PUBLICATIONS. 


LADY BRANKSMERE. 

By “THE DUCHESS.” 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE 
Cciuplete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. 788. 


PRICK 30 CKINXS. 


For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, oa 
receipt of the price, 20 cents, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 8751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York, 


SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION), HO. 745. 

FOR ANOTHER’S SIN; 

OR, 

A STRUGGLE FOR LOVE. 

By CHARLOTTE M. BBAEME, 

Author of “ Dora Thorne.^'* 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPB. 


PRICK SO CKWTS. 


For lale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, oa 
laoeipt of the price, 20 cents, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3761. 19’ to 27 Vandewater Street, New TorlL 


BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER: 

A FEW DAYS AMONG 

OUR SOUTHERN BRETHREN. 

BY HENRY M, FIELD, D.D., 

Author of “ From the Lakes of Killamey to the Golden Hom^’*^ “ From Egypt 
to Japan , “ On the Desert'"* “ Among the Holy Hills," and 
“ I'he Greek Islands, and Turkey after the War" 


Of Doctor Field’s new book the New York Observer says: “ Doctor Field has 
written many good books of travel in foreign lands; but this little book of 
letters from our own United States, and which he has called ‘ Blood is Thicker 
THAN Water,’ will be judged by many to be the best of all.” 

The New York Independent says: “ The volume has a large part of its charm 
in the fact that it is brimming over with reminiscences of the war, pictures of 
battles succeeded by peace, with handshakings of Federals and Confederates, 
all content now to belong to one general United States. Doctor IJeld has suc- 
ceeded wonderfully in investing with rare interest a somewhat prosaic and 
common tour by connecting it with the high sentiments of patriotism and na- 
tional faith. While the volume is written for the ordinary intelligent reader, 
may we venture to remark that it is just such a book as we would like to put in 
the hands of the young; and which, though not professedly a religious book, 
we should be very glad to have shove out of the Sunday-school Library many 
more pious but really less Christian and less useful volumes.” 

The New York World says: “Doctor Field’s brilliant descriptions of the 
scenes visited, his reminiscences of the war, taken from the lips of ex-Confeder- 
ate officers, the vivid contrast he draws between the horrors of battle and the 
present plenty and contentment of peace and prosperity, delight the reader 
and lead to the regret that the volume is not twice as long as it is. . . . It is 
not merely a pleasing book of travel; it is a volume which should have a wide 
influence in further cementing the bonds which now hold the north and south 
together in the strength and affection of indissoluble union.” 


For Sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers. 

PRICE 25 CENTS. 


Sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of 25 cents. Address, 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

17 to *Z7 Vande water Street, New York, 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONSL 


— — — 4 

THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 

ORDINARY EDITION. 


GEORGE MUNRO, Miinro’a PnbUshinff Honse, 


The foflowing works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, 
on receipt of the price, by the publisher. Parties ordering by mail will pieasrt 
order by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER'S WORKS. 

80 Her Dearest Foe 30 

36 The Wooing O’t ^ 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

870 Ralph Wilton's Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

532 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

1231 The Freres 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

1721 The Executor 20 

1934 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

18 A Princess of Thule 30 

28 A Daughter of Heth 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton lO 

§1 Kilmenv ,, -JO 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition, 


53 The Monarch of Mincing Lane 1(? 

79 Madcap Violet (small type) 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type) 20 

242 The Three Feathers 10 

890 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

568 Green Pastures and Piccadilly 10 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 S\#irise: A Story of These Times 20 

1025 The Pupil of Aurelius. 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

1264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
ures 20 

MISS M. E. BRA.DDON’S WORKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Levels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love • • • 20 

322 Dead- Sea Fruit 20 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

409 Rupert Godwin. * c ..... 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordina/ry EdUicn. 

481 Vixen 20 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

600 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

626 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World 20 

660 Fenton’s Quest 20 

602 John Marchmv/nt’s Legacy 20 

672 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood • 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Kobert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Koyal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag - 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 20 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 

396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

811 The Prof easoL^ 1^ 


TEE SEASIDE LIBBARY.—Ordina/rp Editiotk 


829 Wuthering Heights 10 

488 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY KANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life lO 

553 Love at Saratoga 20 

673 Eve, The Factory Girl 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls 20 

101£ His First Love. 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

1192 Vendetta; or, The Southern Heiress 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

1810 Married for Money (illustrated) 20 

1829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine ; or, Working their Own Way 20 

1334 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Meri vale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

88 Antonina 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek 20 

76 The New Magdalen 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name ' • 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story ■ 10 

487 A Rogue’s Life 


THE SEASIDB] LIBBABT. — Ordinary Edition, 


551 The Yellow Mask W 

588 Fallen Leaves 20 

554 Poor Miss Pinch - 20 

675 The Moonstone 20 

596 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

718 The Captain’s Last Love 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

906 Duel in Herne Wood 10 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen D®ep 10 

990 The Black Robe 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shot 10 

1866 ^‘1 Say No” 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WORKS. 

222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer 20 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The Pioneers 20 

281 The Prairie 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water- Witch 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing-and-Wing 20 

940 The Spy 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afioat and Ashore 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afioat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Htadsman; or, The Abbaye des Yignerons 2V 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or. The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine < 20 

1091 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific, . . 2i^ 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 26 

160 A Tale of Two Citlee 20 

^02 Hard Times. , 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Or^nary EdMon. 

118 Great Expectations 30 

187 David Copperfield 20 

300 Nicholas Nickleby 20 

213 Barnaby Rudge 20 

218 Dombey and Son 30 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins) 10 

247 Martin Chuzzlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christmas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Man 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

352 Pickwick Papers 20 

359 Somebody's Luggage 10 

367 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction 10 

403 Tom Tiddler's Ground 10 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey's Clock 10 

625 Sketches by Boz 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

827 The Mudfog Papers, &c 10 

860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child's History of England 2C< 

1464 The Picnic Papers 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘‘DORA THORNE.” 

449 More Bitter than Death 10 

618 Madolin’s Lover 20 

656 A Golden Dawn 10 

678 A Dead Heart H) 

718 Lord Lynne's Choice; or, True Love Nevw Runs Smooth. 10 

746 Which Loved Him Best 20 

846 Dora Thorne 30 

f21 At War with Herself 1^ 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


931 The Sin of a Lifetime 

1013 Lady Gwendoline’s Dream 

1018 Wife in Name Only 20 

1044 Like No Other Love 

1060 A Woman’s War 

1072 Hilary’s Folly 

1074 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

1077 A Gilded Sin 10 

1081 A Bridge of Love 10 

1085 The Fatal Lilies 10 

1099 Wedded and Parted 10 

1107 A Bride From the Sea 10 

1110 A Kose in Thorns 10 

1115 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

1122 Redeemed by Love 10 

1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring 10 

1127 Love’s Warfare 20 

1132 Repented at Leismre 20 

1179 From Gloom to Sunlight 20 

1209 Hilda 20 

1218 A Golden Heart - 20 

1266 Ingledew House 10 

1288 A Broken Wedding-Ring • • 20 

1305 Love For a Day; or, Under the Lilacs 10 

1357 The Wife’s Secret 10 

1393 Two Kisses 10 

1460 Between Two Sins 10 

1640 The Cost of Her Love 20 

1664 Romance of a Black Veil 20 

1704 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

1761 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms 20 

1844 Fair but False, and The Heiress of Arne 10 

1883 Sunshine and Roses 20 

1906 In Cupid’s Net 10 

ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 

144 The Twin Lieutenants 10 

151 The Russian Gipsy - * 10 

155 The Count of Monte-Criato (Complete in One Volume) 20 

160 The Black Tulip lO 

167 The Queen's Necklace 20 









THE 


New York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST AMERICAN HOME MAGAZINE. 

Price 35 Cents Per Copy: $3.00 Per Year. 


All yearly subscribers on our list on the first of December will be 
entitled to a beautiful chroino, entitled: 

“HAPPY AS A KING.” 

The New York Fashion Bazar is a magazine for ladies. It 
contains everything which a lady’s^ magazine ought to contain. 
The fashions in dress which it publishes are new and reliable. Par- 
ticular attention is devoted to fashions for children of all ages. Its 
plates and descriptions will assist every lady in the preparation of 
her wardrobe, both in making new dresses and remodeling old ones. 
The fashions are derived from the best houses and are always prac- 
tical as well as new and tasteful. 

Every lady reader of The New \ ork Fashion Bazar can make 
her own dresses with the aid of Munro's Bazar Patterns. These are 
carefully cut to measure and pinned into the perfect semblance of the 
garment. They are useful in altering old as well as in making new 
clothing. 

The Bazar Embroidery Supplements form an important part of 
the magazine. Fancy work is carefully described and illustrated, 
and new patterns given in every number. 

All household matters are fully and interestingly treated. Home 
information, decoration, personal gossip, correspondence, and recipes 
for cooking have each a department. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, “ The Duch- 
ess,” author of “ Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comfort, Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 
and Mary E. Bryan. 

The stories published in The New York Fashion Bazar are the 
best that can be had. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O Box 3751. 17 TO 27 Vande water Street, N. Y. 



SOBMER 

SEAND, SQUAEE AND UPEieHT PIANOS. 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exnibl- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 
1881 and 1882. 

I The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 



They are used 
in Conservato- 
ries, Schools and 
Seminaries, on ac- 
count of their su- 
perior tone and 
unequaled dura- 
bility. 

The SOHMER 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leading musicians 
and critics. 


ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPUEAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHMER & CO.. Manufacturers, No. 149 to 155 E. 14th Street, N. Y. 


6.000 MILES 

OF 

RAILROAD 



THE BEST 




THE WORLD 


IT TBAVEBSE8 THE MOST DESIRABLE PORTIONS OP 

ILLINOIS, IOWA, NEBRASKA, WISCONSIN, MINNESOTA, 
DAKOTA AND NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 


THE POPULAR SHORT LINE 

BETWEEN 

CHICAGO^ MILWAUKEE, MADISON, ST. PAUL, MINNEAPOLIS, 
OMAHA, COUNCIL BLUFFS, DENVER, SAN FRANCISCO, 

PORTLAND, OREGON, 

Ain> AIjIi points in the west and northwest. 


PALACE « SLEEPING « C AES, ^ PALATIAL ^ DINING « CASS 

AND SUPERB DAY COACHES ON THROUGH TRAINS. 


Close connections in LJnion depots with branch and connecting lines 


ALL AGENTS SELL TICKETS VIA THE NORTH-WESTERN. 

New York afflee,-409 Broadway. Chicago Office, 62 Clark St. Denver Office, 8 Windaor Hotel Block. 

Bmton Office, 5 State Street. Omaha Office, 1411 Farnam St. San Francisco Office, 2 New Montgomery St. 

Minneapolis Office, 13 Nicollet House. St. Paul Office, 159 E. Third St. Milwaukee Office, 102 Wisconsin Street. 

R.S. Hair , General Passenger Agent, CHICAGO, ILL. 











































